Game of Love Ch. 05

"I understand," she whispered, and touched my hand.

"Go on..." Sophia encouraged. Her robe wasn't coming off yet.

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I flew out of Reno to Boise the next afternoon. In Boise, I called on Joe Martinez and gave him my report. Of course, I left off some details. He fumed and fidgeted a bit as he thought about what had gone on, but had to admit that his daughter Carol had shown good sense in what she chose to do when her winnings gave her the option of an orgy versus a commitment with Nathan Twill. He was not so sure about Crystal, and seemed to need more time to think about that. At least now he understood why Cynthia Slidell had been hanging around, waiting for chances to see Crystal. And why Nathan Twill had seemingly lost interest in Cynthia, and had been over to see Carol as often as possible.

"Do you think a trip down there would help clear some things up?" I asked. "Down to Reno?" I was kind of hoping that he would let Carol proceed with Nathan, and give up the idea of her marrying into a family business.

"It might. You've done a lot of research here, but there are some questions I'd like to ask for myself." The usually direct entrepreneur paused and reflected for a bit... "It's funny, but lately I've been dreaming about being in Reno. I can't explain it. Guess I was thinking about it too much. It's a bit confusing, I mean sometimes I picture this black woman who dresses way better than I'm used to being with, and then sometimes I think it's an Anglo woman who is big and sexy. It's all new to me. I can't pick up the paper now without studying the bra ads and guessing which one of those imaginary gals would like me to buy which kind for them... I feel like a teenager, but I want to be generous like a real man. My head is spinning."

"I could put you in touch with some people," I offered.

"Yeah, you got some addresses or phone numbers for those investigators?" I wrote out Leona's and Sherrie's contact information.

"They would enjoy giving you what you need," I suggested, with the straightest of faces.

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"So did it end happily?" Sophia mused.

"Unless you owned stock in the "Casino de Amour". The State busted them, although there was nothing very incriminating left on the scene. Sherrie figured out that they had seduced a co-worker of hers, and he tipped them off at the last minute. She's working on getting him to give evidence, too, but she may have to ask for Leona's help-- and THAT won't be admissible in court." We both laughed.

"What about the Martinez family?"

"I think it all worked out. Joe did make that trip to Reno. I'm not sure what happened, but I received the check in the mail from him and it cleared the bank. There was a brief note-- he's not much with words in writing-- thanking me and saying how helpful the two investigators were. He is inclined to accept both of their suggestions regarding his daughters. It took this uproar to help him see them as grown women, I guess."

"Have you heard from either of them?" Sophia queried. I wondered what the right answer was. I plowed ahead.

"Yes, Sherrie sent this note...." It was a very feminine thank you, with a heart drawn around Joe Martinez' name. "I think they must have clicked! Oh, and she received a commendation from the Senator for her work in advancing the cause of Family Values in the gaming industry."

"And Leona?"

"I'm not sure what this means... it's a thank you note, too, and a poem. There's a little ceramic figure enclosed." The note said that the figure was a gift for Sophia. I handed it to her across the dinner table.

"It's so smooth..." she murmured as she slid her fingers over the miniature replica of the eager mythological frolic that graced Leona's boudoir. I took the poem to read to her, and found that its rhythm took us deeper and deeper into a fantasy of being these woodland sprites. It was not until I saw Sophia's lusty grin that I even realized that my hardening erection had emerged from my dark blue robe. She chuckled at that, but then I pointed out that she did not seem to have noticed that her green satin covering was punctuated now by desperate nipples. She was glowing in a way that enhanced the sheen of the cloth covering draped so suggestively now.

"I've got to get this off..." my lover whispered hotly. The dressing gown ended up in an emerald heap with my blue robe, and I knelt to take kisses between her hot thighs. She urged me on with fingers pressed into my shoulders, swaying eagerly to the beat established as I read the poetic commands.

"You will have me now!" Sophia intoned, in a voice that was at once the deepest command and the highest plea. She stretched out on top of the bedcovers, in a gesture of utter submission, while tilting her pelvis in a way that asserted the power of her hungry opening. I knelt between her legs and then plunged into the primeval forest creature before me.

I had never been a satyr before, and Sophia claims that she has never been a faun. However, we are both sure that this is what we were in the wonderful finale to my Reno adventure. For some reason, Leona sent me a follow-up e-mail the next day. It had no words, just a very large smiley face.

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Postscript:

It was some months after the scholarly version of this report was published and critiqued in the privately circulated journal that I received a rather mysterious call.

"I'll be changing planes in Denver. We should have coffee on my layover, so that I can fill you in on some details of the 'Casino de Amour' case." The male voice offered me Professor Jackie __________ as a reference, a good start-- I knew her through our work, but she was privately aware of my interests and had discussed them with me. My caller told me how to recognize him and asked me to come alone.

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Given the rough edges of the "Casino" case, I was a bit concerned as I went through security. I had told Sophia what I was doing, but all that would do is help an investigation later on. What if my caller was one of the casino's now unemployed hypnosis team?

It was slightly reassuring to see the mid-50's man sitting alone at a table in the VIP lounge upstairs off the busy concourse. [I have to apologize to you for withholding more details of his description, and even of the airline on which he was apparently a valued frequent flyer.] The attendant at the entry door was expecting me. An attentive young woman materialized out of nowhere to ask me if I wanted coffee and had all the usual questions. She seemed to be very familiar with my visitor. He was courteous to her, but was not flirting in the way some frequent business travellers do, I noted.

His cup refreshed, and mine delivered, we introduced ourselves. He presented his card, and for a moment a feeling of panic struck me. It had a miniature of the School for Social Expression symbol on it. I glanced hastily away.

Laughing, he explained that this was such a reduced scale version of it that it would not put anyone into a trance. Most graphics lose some detail when smudged into a tiny space. He explained, in answer as to why it even appeared on his card, that it helped him to identify the people he met-- in other words, my initial reaction had shown him that I knew something about the organization.

I had many questions about their program and he answered some of them, insisting that these details must remain confidential. Gradually, I began to realize that in a sense, I was being interviewed as well. He was learning things about me from the questions that I asked.

It was more surprising when he began to ask me questions about my past work and about Sophia's business. It was clear that he or someone working for him had done a lot of research, although most of what he knew was from obvious sources. It began to feel like a job interview.

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He had been seated so that he could watch the planes, or perhaps to enjoy the stunning panorama of the Front Range in the distance beyond the cityscape. Even master hypnotists, as I began to suspect he was, would enjoy that view. That put me facing the galley, and I was amused to note that our lounge attendant paused before bringing us refills-- she paused to click her bra into the most daring notch.

I had begun to suppose that my visitor had already been influencing her thinking, and expected her to be increasingly interested in him. It was something of a surprise, therefore, as she bent over while serving me. The upward pressure of her bra made it appear that she might burst out of her conservative uniform right there.

Across the table, the master hypnotist simply smiled pleasantly, and suggested to her in a calm tone that I lived right in Denver, whereas he had a flight to catch to California.

"Would you like to have her trance word?" he asked me. There was not a trace of a leer or a tease in his voice.

I explained to him that I really was trying to focus on Sophia lately. The attendant waited without comment, occasionally smoothing her skirt reflexively, until he dismissed her. After she left, I learned that she had been suffering from real attitude problems at work, until my visitor met her on a previous trip. Now she was winning awards for her service and one could look forward to this connecting stop.

It was impressive, how this man could resist the urge to exploit her, and instead build her up as a person. This was very different from the approach taken by some graduates of the school that he represented. Obviously, he felt very comfortable with his power. In turn, he seemed to approve of how I handled this-- perhaps the easy temptation was part of what was clearly becoming an interview.

We still had not covered the "Casino" case. I tried to bring him back to that, but instead he took the topic as a theme in his own direction. I will try to summarize his proposition.

"Yes, the "Casino" -- and some of the other cases where you have stumbled across some bad actors out of our school... We are trying to clean those problems up. We want to get back to the ethical standards that we started with. We think that you AND Sophia would be an asset to our program."

I leaned back and whistled quietly. I had always felt like I was following a kind of core ethics, but could never relate them in a way that someone other than my readers here would understand.

"We need business help. It probably isn't surprising, that when we got off track ethically, we also fell apart on the commercial end. Sophia has shown a tremendous ability in organizing her ventures. You two would make a great addition to our team."

Before I could comment, he continued.

"Don't try to answer now. Just talk it over with your lover and think about it. You're at the right stage in life where you should have the maturity to deal with the mind candy side of the job. And we've learned from a number of your students that you liked working with them." He glanced back at the attendant, barely raised a finger, and she notched her bra back down to duty level. She came for our refill again, perfectly proper in her manner, without comment.

"If you have questions about the boyfriend you mentioned earlier," he addressed her, "the Professor will be glad to answer them." He gave her the Oxford's phone number from memory. Then, as she turned away, he took back his card and underlined his own phone number.

"Call me in a couple of weeks," was all he said.

He looked at his watch. I reminded him that I wanted to learn about his information on the "Casino" case before he left.

"Yes, that. The team that your friend Fawn Ramirez met were rogues, for sure. But they won't be doing any more commercial work."

"How is that?" I queried.

He smiled seraphically.

"We have a team, too. It's out there now, cleaning up our previous management's mistakes. Of course, no details, but be assured that the "Casino" couple will no longer remember some key parts of our training program."

The attendant came over to us, still so professional.

"They'll be boarding your plane in a few minutes." He nodded to her, left a tip, and indicated for me to walk with him.

At the gate, there was a slight and unexpected delay. We chatted for a minute about air travel-- then we both noticed a Vietnamese-American woman who somehow caught our eyes in the crowd. She was trying to read an accounting textbook, something high level for corporate work. A copy of Cosmopolitan was sticking out of her carry-on bag. She was dressed in an attractive suit, looking just a bit sharper than the typical contemporary air passengers, who dressed (with cause) as though they were on their way to the gym for a sweaty workout. She must have just turned 30.

My visitor made eye contact with her, a twinkling, pleasant eye contact. He excused himself and walked confidently over to her.

"I see you are using Ed ______'s accounting text. You don't know me, but he and I went to Stanford together.... a long time ago."

She laughed.

"It couldn't have been THAT long ago...." She laughed. They struck up a brief conversation about getting her MBA, as it turned out, also at Stanford. And that was it.

I was disappointed, expecting to see a sample of this master hypnotist's skill. Surely, I thought, he would have been intrigued by this bright and beautiful traveler, headed in his direction! He had not even asked her name.

My visitor returned to where I stood, ignored the mystified look on my face, and picked up our conversation where it had left off. And then he paused.

I noticed that the gate agent had returned to her desk. She glanced up and my visitor caught her eye. She looked intently at him as he nodded toward the petite future executive. For a moment, the airline worker stared into space, slightly licking her lips, as if remembering something pleasant. She straightened her skirt, and then adjusted her blouse without any sign of being aware of what she was doing.

Then, I was a wide-eyed witness as she looked down at the charts on her desk, typed something into her computer terminal, and then paged the Vietnamese woman. As I mentioned before, I am not at liberty to use many details, but as you can imagine, now we knew her name.

I edged closer to the counter, drawing an amused smile from the man from the School for Social Expression. I listened as the agent explained that she wanted to move some passengers around in order to put a family together. Would Ms. ___________ mind switching to a seat in First Class? Of course, she was willing to make that change. And, in an amazing coincidence, it would be the window seat next to that of the gentleman with whom she had just been speaking.

"How did you do that?" I blurted in sophomoric admiration. I felt my hormones kicking into high gear, just thinking about how aroused his new seatmate would be by the time they stepped off the plane.

My visitor just smiled, and murmured something about "always being prepared." Apparently his time on previous transfers in Denver had not been wasted. The airline agent smiled professionally at us as he waved farewell to me, and then she focused her attention on him, as if waiting on hold. He gave a slight gesture that acknowledged her service, and she smiled as if something beautiful had just happened in her life.

I walked back toward the terminal building shuttle train, thinking deep thoughts while at the same time feeling a powerful need to be with Sophia. Somewhere behind me, two powerful engines were revving up, ready for take-off.