Eternity is Such a Long Time

"Eternity is such a long time, Jack. So you'd had better fucking listen to my words."

Listen to her words? Cheri was the one that wouldn't listen to reason, and now she was pointing that gun right at my nuts.

I couldn't believe the sorry state my miserable ass was in at this very moment. Or, to be more exact, the miserable state my balls were in right now. How had my uneventful boring life changed in just a few short hours? Why had I let it? Only this morning my life seemed so normal.

********************

8:15am:

"Yes, Martin ...Yes. Martin ...I understand. Soon. Very soon, Martin."

After Martin hung up, I pondered his phone conversation. He wouldn't let me get a word in edgewise. Last year the guy was kissing my Irish ass ...now he's ready to put me out with last night's trash - go figure?

Out of all the crap I've written in the past fifteen years, who would have ever thought that 'The Case of The Carson City Silver Dollar' would have hit so big? That unexpected piece of trash took Martin and the rest of the execs at the publishing company (and mostly me) by complete surprise. Then, my follow up to it, 'The Lost Silver Mine of The Sierra Madres' flopped big time. I personally thought it was much better written ...but my short lived fickle following didn't think likewise.

Martin, my friendly, on again, and off again, publisher, wanted a hit this time. Ya, like I can squeeze them out of my sphincter on command like cabbage farts. He had been happy all along with my previous mediocre crap, until 'Silver Dollar' hit big. Now I'm expected to fart out hits, and make everybody else, but me, money in the process. (My shitty contract didn't provide for unexpected major successes.)

Since college, I had this naive star-studded vision of what success would be - and this definitely wasn't it. I would write my first best seller by twenty-five. After that, I would work six months a year writing another one, and spend the other six months on my private island in the Pacific, where cute busty island women in grass skirts and no tops, served me Pina Coladas on the beach, or blew the arrogant best selling American author on command. Not! This sweet vision had somehow begat fifteen hours days, six days a week, in front of my monitor pumping out crap Martin wanted, and not what I wanted to write.

At thirty-seven, my eyes were shot, my back was all screwed up from sitting most days, and I was burned out - physically and mentally. My wife worked full time to keep us insured and fed, and she was getting very resentful that she had to leave the house everyday while I sat around writing dumb stories, to earn what an entry-level accountant made.

My agent never calls me anymore, and my wife is ready to pack her bags and leave. Now I sit here all day drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes, trying to write what just isn't there anymore ...desperately hoping that something I write miraculously hits big time again - somehow ...someday.

9:05am:

Cheri had just left for work with a real pissy look on her face. I needed a shave and a shower ...but needed sleep worse - but who gave a shit. My hair was uncombed, and I looked at the few thousand words I had keyed in during my overnight session. Hopefully, for some mystical reason unknown to me, it may hit - but the sick feeling in my gut told me that my doubts were probably justified.

I stared at my strong black coffee, desperately trying to divine some mystical meaning in the film from the ground beans on top of the black coffee in my mug, and I started to doze off.

Startled from my half asleep daydream by the phone, I jumped up and hit my calf on the side of my desk, spilling my java all over my keyboard. A Charlie Horse surged through my calf, and I was instantly in intense pain. I looked at my keyboard and quickly hit the power switch on my new laptop. Not only did I just lose all of last night's work and my entire manuscript to this point, I probably just fried this new two grand laptop, that I hadn't even made a payment on yet.

The phone kept ranging and I angrily shouted at it. "Who the fuck could that be?"

The caller ID stated it was my agent. I let it ring several times hoping Jerry would hang up. He was a persistent bearded bastard, especially today, and I dreaded picking it up - already contemplating what he would probably say. I reached for the phone as the sick feeling in my gut intensified into full-blown nausea.

"Hey Jack, old boy ...hope you're sitting down my goyim friend? I've got some fantastic news for you! You know how much I've molded your career for you all these years, and haven't made more than fifty cents from it? Well ...today I did."

"What they fuck are you talking about, Jerry?"

"I sold your lousy good for nothing contract to some Hollywood schmuck, for more than I made off of your entire career in the last fifteen years. Not that it's been fun, Jack, it hasn't, but it hasn't put any money in my pocket either ...that's for sure."

"Who would want to represent me ...other than you?"

"I keep asking myself that same question, Jack. He must be nuts? Well ...bye, old buddy - you know how this shit works."

"Wait ...Jerry ...this is it? Who the fuck is this guy?"

"A guy named Pope ...John Pope. I don't know jack shit about him ...no one seems to - but he's offering real money, so I'm taking it. Is that wrong of me, old buddy? ...Bye."

I just sat there trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. My old buddy Jerry just dumped me for a few bucks, and now I had a new agent who wanted to represent me. Who would want to represent me?

As I headed to the bathroom to shower and shave, I laughed out loud. If this Pope guy could see me right now, he'd be pissed he had spent his hard earned money on this worthless has been writer.

11:33am:

I felt much better after a long hot shower and a shave. As I put on clean clothes, my mind whirled about this new agent of mine.

My phone rang again, and the caller ID stated that it was Martin again. Reluctantly, I answered it.

"Jack, old boy. I just got off the phone with your new agent. Why didn't you tell me you had new representation?"

"Well, for one reason, Martin, it just..."

"No matter, my boy. John has big dreams for you, and promises me that your newest manuscript is a sure fire hit."

"He does?"

"Yes, he does, and he says it's your best work yet."

"Huh?"

"He also said that he has major news regarding you, and that we should crank up the presses and start reprinting your old stories beginning with 'The Case of The Carson City Silver Dollar'. He feels once the major news is released, we won't be able to keep up with the demand."

"Major news?"

"I was hoping you could tell me, old boy."

"Sorry, Martin ...it's a trade secret - bye."

I hung up the phone and wondered what the hell was going on here? Well, I wanted something different, and this definitely was different. I headed to the kitchen to make some lunch.

12:42pm:

The lanky looking young man stood on my stoop and repeated himself. "Special delivery for Mr. Jack Spade."

"What?"

"I have a special delivery package for a Mr. Jack Spade ...does he live here?"

"That's me, Einstein."

"Well, duh ...why didn't you say so in the first place? ...Sign this."

After signing, I slammed the door in the obnoxious young deliveryman's face. As I looked at the large shipping envelope, my hands shook as I immediately observed that it was from 'John Pope'. Then I thought that this guy was simply unbelievable. Everyone seems to have dealt with this character but me ...but who the hell was I anyway - just the freaking writer here. I immediately ripped it open and saw a standard looking agent contract and a cover letter.

My mind was racing and I couldn't read the cover letter fast enough:

Hey Jack,

I guess by now you've heard that I bought out your agent's contract on you this morning. Not to worry, buddy, I have big dreams for you, even if you don't yourself.

Attached is my standard 50% contract. Give it a thorough look over, and if you're smart, you'll sign it asap.

To make the pot a little sweeter, Jack, and for you to see what I can make happen for you ...what would you say if I told you that a well known movie producer friend of mine, who owes me 'big time', has agreed to produce 'The Case of The Carson City Silver Dollar' and bring it to the big screen?

I also know that he's willing to pay a mil for the movie rights, plus a few points. I'm betting that the movie will be just as big as the book was. Then all your shitty old stories will sell again, and I'll also bet that your next two manuscripts will make the best sellers list ...even if they are crap.

Hey, with all this renewed confidence in yourself, you may even manage to write another hit? Who knows ...anything's possible? This ride may last a little longer, and may be even more profitable for both of us. What do you say, Jack? Sound inviting? Sound like what your dull life could use right about now? I'm betting it is, Jack. In fact, I'm so confident that you want to turn your miserable life around, that the ink from your signature will be completely dry on the contract when my associate, Pennyworth, arrives at your door at three this afternoon.

Yours,

John Pope

My mind raced. I stood there completely amazed at what I had just read. Who was this fucking John Pope character? What were his motives? Why me? Was my story that good? Did he see dollar signs? ...Maybe he sees something in me that even I don't see? 50 percent - he's a fucking lunatic!

If I had an operating computer right now, I would do a Google search on that son of a bitch and see what it said about him. Bright idea. I'll call my old pal Fred and have him do a Google search on this character.

2:15pm:

How could some Hollywood agent not have anything posted about himself on-line in this day and age? Absolutely nothing. Like the guy never existed. I'm not sure I want to sign anything from this creep, ...especially for 50 percent..

Just then the phone rang again. I ran to the caller ID box and it stated it was an anonymous call. I answered the phone on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Jack. Sign those contracts yet, old boy?"

"Who is this?"

"Jack, it's your new best buddy, John ...John Pope."

"No, I haven't signed any fucking contracts yet, 'buddy'."

"Temper, temper, Jack. I only have your best interests at heart here. Martin and Jerry were ready to dump your worthless ass this morning, before I rescued it in the nick of time. Your old lady is ready to split for some guy named Doug in the next cubicle over from hers, you haven't wrote an honest word in over eighteen months, and your ready to bite off the head of the only guy in the world that believes in you."

"Fifty percent? Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Jack, I'm your friend ...your only friend."

"If you're my friend, then why is this all so mysterious, and how come you know so much about me, ...and my wife?"

"Jack, calm down. This is happening fast because that's the way deals are done in Hollywood these days. You know all about the early bird, don't you? My friend the producer, needs an answer by tonight, otherwise his investors are going to jump ship and invest in some shitty sci-fi story that doesn't have a chance for success. The reason I know so much about you, is because I don't invest in what I don't know 'everything' about. I know you better than you do, old boy. Your good side, and your faults ...which seems to be ruling your existence lately. To be honest with you, Jack, I don't give a flying shit if you ever write another word or not, just as long as you sign the fucking contract this afternoon. I smell gold in them hills, Jack old boy, even if you don't. There's some big dollars here for both of us, ...if you only take a minute to look at your alternatives. That shouldn't take too long ...should it, Jack?"

"This is all so sudden ...Mr. Pope."

"It's John, Jack. Yes, it is, but that the way these deals are done. Pennyworth will be there at three. If you choose not to sign, I'll think you're a worthless fool, but that's your right. But if you do sign, I'll have Pennyworth give you an unexpected bonus to prove my sincerity."

That was all that bastard had to say to me before he hung up the phone. My mind was racing even faster now. Should I sign ...or shouldn't I sign? What choice did I have? He knew I had none. He firmly had both of his hands firmly around my balls, squeezing with all his might, and I knew I had no other choice. That rotten bastard had me.

2:55pm:

I paced the floor wondering what his paid goon would say, ...or do? I had already decided to sign the contract, and take the gamble anyway. Besides, what alternative was there? Go back to my shitty existence that was quickly crumbling down around me?

At exactly three the doorbell rang. My heart was in my throat. I felt like I was gagging and was going to violently puke at any second. Slowly, my feet obeyed and starting walking toward the door. My hand shook as I reached for the knob.

To my complete surprise, there was a gorgeous creature standing on my porch. Behind her, parked next the curb was a stately white stretch limo, and the tuxedoed driver was patiently leaning against the car, lighting a cigarette. Then I looked at the woman again. This woman was absolutely breathtaking. Tall, thin, long legs, big breasts, and long straight shoulder length black hair that shined. She had the friendliest and most beautiful face that I had ever seen. It was as if I were looking into the eyes of an angel. When she smiled at me, my heart melted into a puddle of pungent sweat.

She was completely dressed in black, and it looked very attractive on her. She wore stockings, a very short skirt and a stretch top that showed off every curve of her magnificent body. She looked very businesslike, in a sexy sort of way. She also carried a black leather satchel instead of a purse.

"Mr. Spade ...Jack Spade?"

She also had an angelic voice. Suddenly, I was glad I had showered and shaved earlier, and put on a clean change of clothes.

"I'm Miss Pennyworth, and I represent Mr. Pope. May in come in, Mr. Spade?"

As I showed her to the living room, I looked her over from head to toe.

I meekly asked her, "Miss Pennyworth, not to sound rude, but what is the story on John Pope?"

As we sat in the living room on either end of the couch, she explained that John Pope was a very successful businessman in Hollywood, and that he anonymously represented some very well known personalities. She also said that he was a man whose word could be believed right to the letter.

She smiled as I explained to her I had already signed the contract. I handed the document to her and she lawyerly checked that I had signed and initialized it in all the appropriate places. Then she took out her notary pad and stamp from her satchel and made it legal, and put the document in her satchel. Afterwards, she looked at me with the sexiest eyes I'd ever seen.

"Mr. Pope said that I should give you a signing bonus."

I smiled at her, and was hoping that she would hand me a big fat check. Instead, to my complete surprise, she stood up and slowly started to move her body sensuously ...as if actual music were playing in the room, which I thought was very odd.

I'd been to a few strip clubs in my single days, but this sensuous and desirable creature could move more graceful than any I'd have ever seen dance before.

As if she were in no hurry, she started to sensuously and slowly remove her clothes. Without missing a beat of her imaginary music, she removed her thin stretchy top to reveal a wonderful sexy black lacy sheer push-up bra beneath.

Her smooth skin looked radiant, young, and healthy. Then, while swaying to the imaginary music in her head, she started to take off her short skirt and revealed the sexiest underwear I had ever seen a woman wear, (or at least it seemed that way to me at that moment).

Wearing just her stockings, panties and bra, this god given angel swayed to her imaginary music (that I could almost now hear). As my pants became tighter in my crotch, she removed her bra to reveal her perfectly shaped breasts. Her puffy nipples were already hard as eraser tips on a pencil, and as she danced even closer to me they were pointing directly at my face, as my unworthy mouth salivated at the sight of them.

Then, as she gyrated in front of me, she slowly brushed her erect nipples lightly across my face. It felt absolutely wonderful. My earlier nervousness slowly melted away, as I looked at this wonderful angel gracefully dancing before me. I stared at her like a teenage boy looks at a stroke magazine - wide eyed and goofy. The tightness in my pants was starting to become very uncomfortable.

As she continued to sway to the music that we both could clearly hear now, her thumbs gracefully hooked into the waistband of her panties, as she gracefully and ever so slowly shimmied out of them; not missing a step of her sensual dance. Beautiful curly black hairs emerged from between her heavenly legs.

Now she was wearing only her stockings and heels. My dick was at full mast now, sticking straight up like a pup tent in my pants.

She danced over to where I was sitting on the couch, and sank down to her knees on the floor between my legs. As she sat in front of me, her angelic eyes gazed directly into mine.

"I've read some of your sexy and naughty books, Jack. You are such a naughty boy ...and I'm a real big fan. Your writing is always so arousing, that I get goose bumps when I read your witty words."

I didn't say a word. I just looked at her beauty and believed every word of her wonderful lies. Even though my mind was working overtime, the connection between it and my vocal cords was practically severed, and I think I finally managed to make some sounds that weren't recognizable.

Here was this beautiful sexy naked angel kneeling before me, telling me how much of a fan she was of my writing, and all I think I managed to finally utter was something pretty lame like, "Duh ...thanks, Miss Pennyworth."

As she started to touch my inner thigh, I almost popped right there in my pup tent. Then, she started to trace circles around my rigid manhood through my tight pants with her beautifully sculptured fingernails.

I honestly do not believe it had ever been as hard or big as it was right now.

"Poor boy ...you look so uncomfortable. Let's get those tight pants off, so 'little Jack' can breath a bit."

I think I managed to mumble the word 'okay', but don't quote me on that - I may have also said 'huh' or 'duh'.

Within a few seconds she had my pants and boxers off. As she stared at my erectness, she smiled and said, "It's so much bigger than I hoped it would be".

Then, I thought that Pope must have been paying her extremely well for her services. Not only was this woman extremely beautiful, thoughtful and very intelligent, she knew exactly what to say, and how to say it. She was the ultimate professional. Right now, I was 'really glad' I had decided to sign that damn contract.

When she finally touched 'it', I thought that it was all over with, but miraculously I managed to compose myself ...somewhat - as my pre-cum oozed out of the tiny slit on the head of my cock.

"It looks so delicious, Jack. You don't mind if I have a little taste, do you?"

This heaven sent angel proceeded to give me the most sensual blowjob I had ever received. Not too fast, and not too slow. She acted like sensuously suck my worthless dick was her only mission in life. (And boy did she ever.)

After only a few seconds of this wonderful attention, I started to erupt. As I did, I stroked her beautiful shinny black hair with my hands, as I pushed her head deeper onto my pole. She greedily took it all ...and then some. When she was finished, I said something really witty and intelligent like, "Boy, that was great, Miss Pennyworth ...thanks."