Journal Of Desire Ch 03

Huey Lewis was accustomed to luxury. Corporations seeking financing courted him as president of the Temperance Hill Guaranty Bank. Huey Lewis looked forward to birthday gifts, VIP box seats at ACC basketball tournament games, private jet flights to watch the top golfers fight for the Masters golf title, to the US Open tennis finals.

But from the moment they stepped into the Hay Adams Hotel in Washington, DC, Huey the small town banker was bedazzled. Across from Lafayette Park in front of the White House, the Hay Adams was where the Obama family stayed before his inauguration.

Senator Helene Falkland steered Huey Lewis into the fabled hotel and up the wide staircase to the restaurant. Piano music wafted from the restaurant into the hallways. Every hallway had fresh orchids.

"I've been wined and dined by the biggest corporations in the country," Huey said. But this - this is sheer opulence."

"What you're seeing isn't just money," Helene said. "This place reeks of power. And power is much more than money. The Hay Adams is a magnet for political power brokers from across the world."

She smiled at the maitre d'hotel. "My usual table, please."

Huey shook his head at the menu and placed it face down on the table. "You order for us, Helene. I'm just a country boy here."

Later, he had to force himself to keep from gobbling the food. He yook his time, savoring the Hays-Adams Cobb. Even the food was art, Huey decided. He enjoyed the Romaine hearts, smoked turkey, avocado, sliced egg, blue cheese crumble, and sugar cured bacon. Spicing it all was the house made vinaigrette.

There was little small talk between them as Helene enjoyed her lobster salad with fanned avocado, heirloom tomato, and green beans with coriander vinaigrette.

Their salads were followed by Helene's favorite entree, herb crusted rack of lamb.

Finally, Sen. Helene Falkland took Huey Lewis to the exclusive lounge in the basement. This was the place where power brokers came to be seen, but not overheard. Tables were spaced far enough apart for discreet conversations.

The senator let Huey know that as chairman of a powerful committee, she could block, or pass new banking regulations. Which meant she could close the door on Huey's dream of heading the national organization of bankers.

So here he is, Helene thought, being very attentive to her at the hotel lounge. He's here like a puppy wanting his ears scratched. Or like a teenager sniffing after his first girl.

Helene set her martini glass down and posed the key questions.

"So there won't be a problem getting me the newspaper financial records? Even the list of subscribers?"

Huey glanced swiftly across the lounge. At this early hour, there were only two other people in the place. They were seated on the other side of the lounge. Out of hearing range.

"You know I'm going out on a limb here," Huey said. "I'd be up against confidentiality agreements. Non-disclosure agreements. Anti-trust. Maybe a lot of other laws that escape me right now."

He put his hand over Helene's hand.

"I don't want to sound crude, senator," he said, "but I'm taking a hell of a risk here." He gave Helene's hand a soft squeeze. "So what would there be in it for me. Other than the banking chairmanship, I mean."

Helene twirled an olive in her martini and softened her eyes as she looked at Huey.

"We can make a good team, Huey. I can help push your career. You can keep me updated on the inside financial stuff."

She moved her foot under the table until it touched Huey's leg. "We can make a hot team, Huey."

There was a sudden blush on Huey's cheeks. Helene moistened her lips slowly with her tongue.

"There are several ways we can get to know each other better," she said. "But fucking is the fastest."

Twelve hours later Helene Falkland pulled the sheet around her. The thermostat was set a shade too low to ease the morning chill.

"We've got to go, Huey."

She slipped her feet into the hotel slippers as she stood up. Her fingers raked through her tousled hair as she searched for the comb. The dresser? No. The bathroom sink? Damn it!

The bathroom light spilled across the bedroom carpet. The rhinestones in the yellow comb flashed on the floor at the corner of the bed.

"Double damn!"

Helene tossed her hair over a shoulder as she bent to pick up the comb. Her cheek brushed across his naked bottom.

"Get up, Huey. I said we've got to go."

Huey Lewis turned over as Helene reached for her clothes draped across the back of the dresser chair. The banker rubbed the back of a hammy hand across his eye lids.

"Come back to bed, sweetie. The sun's barely up. Come on back to bed. Just for a few minutes."

Helene was buttoning her ivory silk blouse. "Move it, Huey. You've got a few minutes for a quick shave before we have to get out of here. I've got committee meetings on the Hill."

A grunt escaped from Huey's mouth which felt like pure cotton. He pushed himself off the bed, grunted again, and shuffled into the bathroom.

Helene shook her head and turned to the dresser mirror. She never used much makeup, so she had enough time while Huey shaved.

Huey had been a disappointment in the sack, Helene admitted. That was a shame. Being the Temperance Hill banker, he was a big frog in small pond. He was also big where it really mattered. But he just didn't know what to do with it. All the motions were there. But the man lacked the spark that made a woman tingle from the base of her spine to the strands of her hair.

Huey Lewis was an expert in the financial world. In the sack? He was a poor country bumpkin.

That was the eternal dilemma. You could tell a lot about a man by the way he fucked. But you couldn't find out without actually doing it.

Her seduction had three goals: access to the newspaper's financial jewels, an inside to the country's big money men, and a good lay.

Oh well. Two out of three ain't bad.