This story can only be found bundled with the Erotic Novella “Nick’s Secret”
The cell always rings when it’s hardest to get at, not just driving, but turning some tight corner or in the middle of an intersection. Here I’m trying to get into this goddamn parking spot at the golf course and it shrieks from inside my bag.
“Catt? It’s Jimmy.”
“Jimmy? So what’s the good word?”
“Not just a word, Catt. I’ve got a special proposal for you today.”
“Just hang on a sec.” I steer with my left hand into an empty parking spot by the exit, setting the phone on the passenger seat while I maneuver the car into place. “OK, shoot.”
“This one’s video.”
“Catt, honey, I know what you think, and you know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t something special.” Jimmy hesitates. Fucking videos, it’s no better than when I was working for the Agency, for Christ’s sake – I told him I was sick of giving blow jobs to ugly jerks. “This one’s a threesome, Catt, you and an older guy and some young chick. It’s $750 US for about three hours’ work, and the guy blows his load nowhere near you.”
“OK, so I’m listening.”
“You play the school principal, they wanted an attractive older woman and my first thought was you,” he says.
“I’m touched,” I reply with a short laugh, and Jimmy’s encouraged.
“It starts out with you on the phone, the guy’s supposed to be calling you about his daughter. Then he meets you at your place, it looks like you guys are going to get into it. There’s some penetration, but only a couple of minutes. Then the young chick comes in, his ‘daughter’, and the two of you start doing her.”
I laugh out loud.
“Great story. Somebody’s getting paid to write this shit?” I ask between chuckles.
“Hell, I guess they are, honey. I sure didn’t make it up. And like I said, he cums all over her face, nowhere near you. You’re at the other end. She’s a real sweetheart, this girl. Nineteen years old, very pretty.”
“When’s this supposed to happen?”
“Next month, either Buffalo or TO.”
“Well, OK, do some more talking with these people. I’ll call you when I get home and let you know what my schedule looks like.”
“Great, Catt,” Jimmy gushes. “I told you it was something special.”
“OK, Jimmy. I guess you can call it special if you want,” and I laugh again. “I’ll get back to you later.”
“Right. Talk soon.” And he hangs up.
I set the phone down on the seat and finally get the car straightened out, looking around as I do. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to Niagara-on-the-Lake. Niagara-on-the-Take, as some of the locals call it. Kindve an upscale party town, with some nice hotels and fine dining along with stores full of expensive clothes and curiosities. Its where I used to come to hide out, back in the days when I was working for the Agency over in Niagara Falls. Because where the Falls is neon and new hotels, Niagara-on-the-Lake is all small town Victorian quaintness, even with all the tourists. To get to the golf course you leave the main drag, the press of cars and humanity, turn off to a side street and follow the river to the club house. The oldest golf course in North America, so they say. So Randy used to tell me, at any rate. Randy the travelling salesman – lab equipment or something like that, he used to try and describe it to me sometimes. A regular from back in the days. Sold lab equipment all over the place but somehow he knew about every golf course from Niagara Falls to Windsor to Ottawa.
There’s a foursome heading by me as I get out of the car and lock up, they pass me on their way to the club house.
“She still looks good,” the youngest at mid-forty or so says appreciatively.
He’s looking at my car, a 97 Cutlass Supreme SL, fully loaded and still gleaming white. Flawless in the bright sunshine.
“She’s holding up pretty well,” I agree with a smile at all four of them.
This time, he’s looking at me.
It elicits a laugh from his three compare’s and me too. I hesitate, fiddling with keys while I let them get to the clubhouse before me, get settled at a table to order drinks and forget about me and my car. That’s all I need when I’m trying to do a job, for Christ’s sake, is a bunch of holidaying yuppies trying to get naughty while the wives are maxing out credit cards on imported linens and china. After a few minutes, I make my way in quietly, pulling up a seat at the end of the bar.
God, and it does take me back. Waiting for Randy at this very same bar, then a drink before heading to the hotel room. At least a dozen times over about a year and a half. He’d introduce me to local businessmen. They must have been used to Randy’s ways, they never batted an eyelash as his arm snaked around my waist or a hand would drop nonchalantly on my thigh. Maybe they didn’t even know he was married, though. Randy was like a lot of guys. He lived his life in little compartments and nobody really had a look at what was in all of them at once. The last while, just before I quit the biz, he used to hire me for whole weekends and we’d do it all – five star restaurants, plays at the Shaw Festival. I mean, if I was ever going to fall for a date, it would have been Randy, hands down. But, as always with these situations, it worked because we both knew the deal.