Separating Riches (3 page)

Let’s Make a Pact ‒‒ Melinda Blackstone
and
Chris Livingston

“Honey, I’m curious about John Mooney,” Chris said, as she walked back into the room wearing the sweetest little red negligée that ignited a fire in me so hot, my entire body flushed red with desire.

“Who cares about him?” I retorted with a thickening tongue. “Is that a new negligée?”

“Yes, do you like it?” she teased seductively.

“Oh yeah, baby, I like it a lot,” I replied, licking my suddenly dry lips.

Pulling the sheet back, I held my arms out to her, but she sat on the side of the bed and took her slippers off.

“I’m glad. But do you mind terribly if we talked for just a minute?”

Talk? Is she testing my patience or is this some kind of weird come on? I mean, we’ve been talking, now it’s time for sex.

“All right. I do remember a little more about John. We had chemistry class together, so I hired him to help me with my homework. I remembered that he was one of those mamma’s boys, who liked to be dominated by women. He was crushing hard on this one girl, but was too scared to tell her. I guess he found a way because he started showing me pictures of them in bed together. I mean, what the hell do I want to see that for? I honestly don’t remember getting caught when I was drunk, and using him as my scapegoat.”

“I totally understand. I had a few of those fuzzy days myself,” she said, slipping into bed. “What college were you two attending? One of those private schools, I’ll bet.”

“No, actually, it was Berkeley,” I boasted.

“You went to the University of California?” she asked, finally climbing into bed and laying her head on my shoulder. “I’m kind of surprised that your parents let you attend a public college.”

“As a kid I had to attend private schools. But once I was ready to choose a college, I insisted on going to Berkeley. Father and I had a long drawn out fight about that, but I told him either I went to Berkeley, or I was going backpacking with friends across Europe.”

“So he gave in and let you go to Berkeley?” she asked.

“Actually, not at first, so my friends and I hopped a plane and took off. He never could catch up with me, because we went everywhere. We bought motorcycles and toured Switzerland, Luxemburg, Germany, France, and everywhere in between. Finally, he cut off my money, so I had no choice but to come home. He relented after that, and I signed up for classes at Berkley the next day. Man those were some good times.”

“Gosh, that sounds like it was a lot of fun. Believe it or not, I’ve never been out of the country before. I’ve always wanted to see Switzerland,” she said, and laid her arm possessively across my stomach.

There was no greater feeling in the world than when Chris asserted her claim on my heart, and all it took to feel that was her arm around me. I was finding it hard to talk and had to take in a deep breath before I could continue.

“My parents have a château in Lucerne, Switzerland. Maybe we could vacation there sometime. It’s one of the most gorgeous places on earth.” I really did love Switzerland, with its snow-covered mountains and pure sweet air. It would be so much fun to show Chris all the sights during the day and make love to her under the brilliant night sky.
Speaking of making love...

“Chris, we need to make a pact,” I said, running my hand across the lace negligée, my fingers tingling at the touch of her cool, bare skin.

“A pact? What kind of pact?” she asked.

“You need to promise me that when you want to talk, you won’t put on a negligée first, and then rub your hand across my breast.”

She had moved her hand from my stomach, up under my breast, not realizing her touch was pushing my libido into overdrive.

“Oh, gosh,” she exclaimed and pulled her hand away. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t realize.”

I placed her hand back on my breast where it belong. “Don’t you know what you do to me? A simple touch from you and my skin is on fire, and all I can think of is when will you stoke the flames?”

“Well, they say that anticipation is half the fun,” she replied with a chuckle.

“They would be wrong in that regard,” I said, pulling the negligée strap off her shoulder. “The buildup is fun, I’ll admit, but the release is the apex of life.” I wasn’t sure what I said after that, because Chris had slipped her hand down to the inside of my thighs and effectively rendered me speechless.
Nothing will ever get in the way of this.

Chapter Three

Open Your Golden Gates Takes on a Whole New Meaning – Melinda Blackstone
and
George Kirk

It was good to be back in San Francisco. I spent the better part of my formative years growing up here. It also took some getting used to again. I had so easily assimilated to the slow pace of the Southern ways, and San Francisco was anything but slow. My realtor had found a house for us to rent on Pacific Avenue, with the Golden Gate Bridge in the background. That is if you climb up to the third floor and look out the bedroom window. The house was wedged in-between rows of houses, some two stories, and some three. The residence was smaller than our mansion in Memphis, with six bedrooms instead of nine, and a tiny game room, which I was none too pleased with. Still, it was only for a couple of months, so I guessed I could put up with it for that long. At least it had a barbeque on the patio. The first night we moved in, I grilled steaks. We all, staff included, had a picnic outside in the tiny backyard. I had first embraced the art of Southern barbequing when I moved to Memphis, and loved it so much that Chris had to insist that I didn’t grill every meal outside. When I was growing up, we didn’t do such things as cook our own meals, or eat in the backyard. We were much too rich for something like that.

Charlotte Riggins, our butler, and Konani Kalani, our Hawaiian cook, came out a few days ahead of time to prepare for our arrival. Our secretary, Kate Stana, and our maid, Baylee-Ann Reynolds, flew down with Chris, Norma and I, along with Norma’s kitten, Pluto, and Chris’ kitten, Blackie. The kittens were great entertainment that first night in the new house, running around exploring every nook and cranny. But Charlotte was even funnier, trying to herd the kittens into their new bathroom.

Unfortunately, there were no rooms left for George, so I told him he was welcome to stay at our mansion in Memphis while we were gone. But he was so keen on chronicling our mission, and he wanted to be there if Norma returned to Hollywood, so he said that he would rather go back to his condo in Los Angeles so he could be close by. He had been staying with us for so long that it was going to feel strange not having him around. Until I met Chris, George was the only true friend that I had, and even then, I didn’t see it as a friendship. It was his job to journal my life, thanks to my parents’ insistence. He was with me at that disastrous first meeting, when I got Chris fired while she was waitressing at a dump of a restaurant in Memphis. George practically dared me to talk to him, claiming he was my friend. Having no one else that I could confide in, I called his bluff and poured my heart out to him about Chris. He didn’t hold back, even though I could have had him blackballed in a heartbeat if I didn’t like what he had to say. As it was, his advice was unwaveringly precise and helped me wake up to a different way of seeing things. Now he is my best friend, and I trust him implicitly. I don’t always understand him, but I have confidence in him, and for the first time in my life, I want a friend nearby. I informed him that I would put him up in a hotel within walking distance of our temporary home, assuring him that it was just in case Norma went back to Hollywood. If she did, there would be no time to wait for him to find us. I thought it sounded pretty plausible, and apparently so did George, because he immediately accepted.

The night before we flew to San Francisco, we had a difference of opinion regarding the Golden Gate Bridge.

“Blackie, don’t be an asshole,” George said snidely. “It’s against the law to climb the bridge, and you know it.”

“Climb? Forget that. I looked it up and there’s a small elevator that’ll take Chris and I up the tower shaft to a walkway overlook between the two towers.”

“Yeah, I know,” George said, shaking his head. “They used to offer tours, but I don’t think they do that anymore.”

“I don’t want a tour,” I rebuked. “All I need is a blanket, a basket filled with a good bottle of fake wine, and a few oysters.”

“Again, don’t be an asshole,” he repeated, and before I could say anything, he held up his hand, his fingers spread apart. “Let me tell you why you should rethink this crazy idea. One,” he lowered a finger, “it’s against the law, and you’ll both end up in jail. Two,” he lowered another finger, “it would be incredibly dangerous. The winds alone could blow you right off the bridge, and three—”

“And three, it would be the most fantastic sex either of us have ever had,” I exclaimed, imagining the wind blowing across Chris’ naked body. “Look, I’ve done this before, back in my wild college days. We were perfectly safe up there, and the sex was incredibly intensified, and that was with a girl I didn’t even know. Imagine the sex with someone you love.”

“And are you even sure that Chris would want to break the law with you?”

My mouth hung open, and my eyebrows slanted inward. He would have to find the one rational thing that I couldn’t argue about. I shook my head. “No, she probably wouldn’t.”

“I know the world still sees you as Blackie, but you need to remember what you had to go through to convince Chris that Melinda was worth loving.”

Damn. Arrow through the heart.

“Okay. Okay. You’re right, Chris wouldn’t go for it if it meant breaking the law, and I wouldn’t ask her to. I just thought it would be fun.”

“Blackie thinks it would be fun, Melinda wouldn’t. When it concerns Chris, you should probably ask what Melinda would do.”

“You’re too funny, George,” I jeered. He had a serene look that told me he wasn’t trying to be funny.

“Remember, you’ve been Blackie longer than you’ve been Melinda, and sometimes you confuse the two.”

“Now you’re just being weird,” I said sharply. “I’m not a schizoid, you know.”

“No, but you are trying to be a new person, a better person, and I think your old self is fighting that change.”

“George, you’re a biographer, not a shrink. Where is this coming from?”

“You don’t know? Part of my being a brilliant biographer is because I’m able to get inside my clients head, and inside your head right now, a tug-of-war is raging.”

“If that were true, what do you expect me to do about it?” I knew it was true. It started the minute I got Chris fired from her waitressing job, and the war had been escalating ever since. I loved being Blackie. She made me feel superior, hard and cool. But Chris loves Melinda, my softer side. Everyone knows that it’s harder to win a fight with a soft spot in your heart.

“Maybe you need to work more on merging the two personalities together so that you can still think with your sex, but let your brain make the decisions that would keep you out of trouble.”

What he said was making sense, but it was all a little too surreal for me. I needed to end the conversation before my head exploded. I promised him that I would think about it.

Scholarship – Chris Livingston
and
Meg Bumgartner

“This is Chris,” I said into the phone.

“Yeah, Chrissie, it’s Meg. Having fun in the city by the bay?”

“We only just arrived yesterday, so I’m having fun unpacking this morning,” I said, as I pulled Melinda’s T-shirts from her suitcase and place them in a drawer.

“Well, take a break because I’ve got some good news for you. There have been thousands of students interested in your scholarship program. It’s taking some time to process them all, but we just cleared your first scholarship awardee.”

“Oh, that is good news,” I exclaimed. “What can you tell me about them?”

“Her name is Emily Morton, a twenty-year-old girl who has ambitions of being a doctor. She’s a sophomore at Berkley with a 4.0 grade point average.”

“That’s perfect. Melinda and I can present the scholarship to her while we’re in California.”

“I’ll email her photo and application to you.”

“Thanks, Meg. What do you think of her personally?”

“After I investigated her background, I flew out and met with her as part of the process. I personally think that she drinks to fit in. She’s pretty shy, and afraid to make eye contact, but she’s determined and wasn’t afraid to ask for help.”

“Is there a reason for her shyness? I mean, is that why she drinks?” I asked curiously.

“You mean like some trauma when she was young or something? No, not that I could determine. I could speak with her parents, if you’d like?”

“No, Meg, that won’t be necessary. It’s not a requirement for the scholarship. I was just curious.”

“Well, it’s your program, and you have the final say on whether she gets the scholarship, right? Why don’t you go talk with her before you make your decision?”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. I should probably do that with every awardee.”

“That would keep you pretty busy, you know,” Meg stated.

“Not if we have an award ceremony in one place, twice a year. I worked out all the details with the committee before we shot the commercial. But the first awardee is special by virtue of being first. She will be in the spotlight more than any of them, and I’d like to make her aware of that.”

“She signed a waver when she applied,” Meg reminded me.

“I know, but it can be pretty scary, especially for a shy person.”

“And if she can’t handle it?” she asked.

“Then the second awardee will be the face of our next campaign, but Emily still gets the scholarship.”

“Yeah, I knew you would say that, Chrissie.”

Melinda walked in eating a donut, just as I clicked off the phone. Watching her eyes roll as she took a bite of that donut, I could almost taste the sugary delight myself. My mouth watered as much for the donut, as for the sensuous way Melinda was devouring it.

The Sexy Donut — Melinda Blackstone
and
Chris Livingston

“Who was on the phone?” I asked curiously.

“Give me a bite of your donut, and I’ll tell you,” Chris replied.

“I don’t know. Is it worth this delicious, light as air, crusty sweet, almost better than sex, donut?”

“Well, yes and no,” she replied with a grin. “No, never better than sex, I mean, nothing is, right?”

“You have a valid point. Okay, here you go.” I handed her my donut, so she could take a bite, but she stuffed the entire thing in her mouth. “Hey, didn’t you learn how to share your food?”

“What can I say? I was hungry,” she sputtered.

“Okay, so pay up. What’s the good news that just cost me my donut?”

Chris held up a finger, to indicate she wanted to finish chewing first. She has the sweetest way of trying to hide her mouth with her fingers when she chews that makes me want to kiss her. So I did. Just as she swallowed the last of it, I pulled her hand away, and lightly danced my tongue over her powdery sugared lips. Moaning, she leaned into my body, asking for more, and I quickly responded by slipping my tongue inside.
This is heaven.
I pulled her closer so that I could explore deeper, as she molded into me, slipping her leg between my thighs. Like a match to a fuse, her heat weaved through my body so quickly that every nerve instantly sizzled with desire.

“God, what you do to me,” she grunted, gasping for air.

“Well, you sparked a fire that can only be put out one way,” I stated breathlessly. I had the urge to do something outrageous, but then, after my talk with George, I settled for the norm, and led her to the bed, wondering if I was getting old.

Should I or Shouldn’t I? — Norma Shelby
and
George Kirk

San Francisco was mostly the way I remembered it. The salty air wafting in from the ocean was still as invigorating as it was in my younger days. And the smell of croissants baking made my stomach growl with anticipation, although I imagine it was probably Konani in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Still, it triggered fond memories for me. Memories of a time when the only thing I cared about was lust and loving. San Francisco in the sixties, when I was there, truly was in a state of revolution, and young starlets from Hollywood found freedom beyond their wildest dreams. Back then Hollywood wasn’t as open minded about women as it supposedly is now.

Our first morning in the city, and already George was eager to take me out exploring. Before I had even dressed for breakfast, Charlotte tapped on my door and handed me a handwritten note from George. Dear, sweet George. I liked his enthusiasm, but wondered if I would be able to keep up with him. Still, it was one of the reasons I agreed to come here with the girls, so that I could see this lovely city one last time while I was still able to. Having become a recluse in the latter part of my life, I had only planned to enjoy the city from the balcony, and not actually venture out into the throes of people scurrying to and fro. It was quite frightening even to imagine, especially since I was still quite fatigued from the trip.

And yet, with George as my escort, it might be worth it. When I was a young actress, I preferred sharing my escapades with a friend, especially an actor, or writer, or artist, because through their eyes I saw different colors, possibilities and emotions. Of course, I have no doubt that his invitation comes with a string attached. I’m sure he’ll want to use some part of our tour in the book. Why on earth I agreed to let him write my biography, I have no idea. Vanity, I suppose… but also so I could leave some part of myself behind for my grandchildren. With that thought in mind, I decided that since we were going to be in the city for a few weeks, why not venture out a few times and see what had changed since I was here last.