The Wilerson Institute

Prologue

I entered Federico's a few minutes after eight in the evening. The place was fairly crowded, as usual. I greeted Henri, the maitre`d, and he showed me to a table.

"Harry," I said, "Jack is coming, too. Show him over when he gets here."

"Of course, Mr. deFrame."

I ordered drinks for both of us when the waiter came over, but was surprised when Jack came in. He was with another man. Jack introduced him as John Wilson, and they both sat down. When the waiter returned, Jack ordered Wilson a drink. "I asked you to come tonight to introduce you to John." said Jack, by way of breaking the ice.

"Oh? A business proposition, Mr. Wilson?" Jack had introduced several potential business associates to me this way. Some had worked out and some hadn't. I returned the favor when I could. Jack and I go way back.

"Um, not precisely," replied Wilson. He had a faint English accent.

Before he could elaborate, a waiter approached the table. "Excuse me, Mr. James, a phone call for you."

Jack pushed himself away from the table and stood. "Probably something at the office," he said, and left.

I turned back to Wilson. "Should we continue? Or wait for Jack to return?"

"It might be best to continue on. In truth, I asked the waiter to call Jack away. Our talk should be private."

"Really?"

"Quite. I think you'll agree shortly."

"So?" I was simultaneously intrigued and wary. Certainly this was an unusual approach.

"I think I should start by telling a story. I suspect you might find some interesting points to this, um, story.

"There once was a young man. Let's call him Tim. Tim was a very bright young man, and of course, went to a very good college. In college, he learned quite a bit of electronics, and this eventually led him to a very nice job with a rather large computer firm. IBM, I think.

"Well, anyway, Tim was a very ambitious fellow. Despite a rather tiring schedule doing research for the large computer firm, he managed to go to school nights and earned another degree or two. A very bright young man, as I said."

"Quite," I said dryly.

"Yes. Now, as I said, Tim was very bright and ambitious. He had a very good idea for a new type of computer chip, but his bosses at the large computer firm didn't want to take the obvious and large risks to develop the chip. So Tim decided to do it on his own. He quit his job and started his own company. It took years of grinding, back breaking work, long hours, tight money. Several times he thought of just chucking it all in. But he succeeded. Today, Tim's firm is the industry leader in it's field, and Tim is considered the hottest man in the business."

"A real Horatio Alger," I said through clenched teeth.

"Indeed. But Tim has a problem. And it's a problem with a solution. You see, Tim has difficulties with women. He married right out of college, to his college sweetheart. But she had different dreams and hopes than he did. The long hours at the big computer company, and then worse, the longer hours and lack of security when Tim started his own company, broke her love for him. She divorced him after almost a decade of marriage. Then the poor fellow married again, but discovered that his wife was more interested in his money than in him.

"Now, you can see Tim's problem. Twice burned, twice shy. He can never know whether a woman is attracted to him or to his wallet. Or that a woman will stay, what with his work and schedule. So Tim, now in the prime of his life, and for the first time with the time and money to pursue a more leisurely schedule, now has no one to share his new freedoms."

"I certainly hope there is a moral to this story," I bit out.

"Oh, yes. In fact a most happy ending. For Tim had a most devoted friend. A friend who had known him for more than twenty years, through thick and thin. And the friend put him in contact with an acquaintance of his. And the acquaintance had a solution to the problem. The acquaintance was associated with the Wilkerson Institute. And the Wilkerson Institute arranged for Tim to meet a lovely young lady, and all of Tim's desires were satisfied by her."

"Uh, huh." This was intriguing, in a painful and very personal way. "Did Jack ever mention to you, my first name is Timothy? Or that I used to work for IBM, and now own a computer chip company?"

"What? Really? What an astounding coincidence!," said Wilson. A two year old wouldn't have believed him. "Have you been married twice, also?"

I gave him a semi-amused smile, raising an eyebrow at him in the process.

"My heavens. The perhaps the Wilkerson Institute can help you as well!"

"And just what is the Wilkerson Institute?," I asked.

"Quite simply, the Wilkerson Institute trains young ladies in all the arts necessary to satisfy it's patrons. We are the finest establishment in the world at providing such training."

"What do you mean, all the arts?"

"Precisely that. All the arts."

"Including..."

"Exactly."

This took me back. I flopped back in my chair and drained my glass. I simply stared at Wilson, until I was brought back to the table when the waiter placed a fresh drink in front of me. What in the world was this? A high class pimping operation? An escort service? Hookers? Electronic dating? I drained the fresh drink and leaned forward again.

"What do you mean..," I started.

"Please, allow me to explain," interrupted Wilson.

I nodded assent. I didn't trust myself to talk.

"First, a potential patron visits the Wilkerson Institute for a week's rest and relaxation. The Institute is located in the beautiful Yucatan. A truly lovely setting. We have a large, beautiful campus, much like a deluxe resort. Large luxurious suites, world class cuisine, golf, swimming, nearby nightclubs. And while there, the patron has the opportunity to meet numerous students with the potential to meet his specific needs. The patron will receive expert assistance in such selection, with Mr. Wilkerson personally overseeing such assistance. Ultimately, a student will enter into a long term relationship with the patron."

So far, it sounded somewhat interesting. But, there had to be some buts. "I can assume that this, um, what did you call it, Wilkerson Institute? That this Wilkerson Institute is not doing this from the goodness of their hearts?"

"Well, no, not really. As you can imagine, such a setting, and such training and selection, do carry an overhead." He took a gold pen from his pocket and wrote a number on a napkin. He slid the napkin over to me. "This would cover the initial appraisal week in Mexico. And, of course, it would be applied to the total package, if a student proved suitable."

I looked at the napkin. While, I didn't faint or scream, I think my eyes bugged out. "This is a rather large figure," I protested.

"Not really. It's not considerably more than a luxury cabin for two on a deluxe cruise to Europe."

"Perhaps not, but I'm not taking two. If I was, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Now it was Wilson's turn for a wry smile. But the smooth bastard was prepared. "No, you aren't going with a companion. Instead, you'll have literally dozens of companions, all young, attractive, eager, and talented. I can guarantee you'll have the time of your life." Wilson looked up and nodded towards the bar. I turned and saw Jack stand and head our way. I turned back to Wilson, who was reaching into his suit jacket. He pulled out a business card and slid it across the table.

"I think I will take my leave for the moment. Please take a little time to think my proposal over. You can reach me at any time."

He stood smoothly, and shook my hand and then Jack's, and was gone. Jack plopped down into his seat and picked up his menu.

I reached across the table and slapped the menu down. "Jack, if you weren't my best friend, I'd rap you upside your head with a two-by-four. You should have given me some idea of what you were up to."

Jack gave a hearty laugh. "And if I had, would you have come?"

"Well, no, of course not!"

"The ends justify the means." He laughed again. "That'll teach you to go to a Jesuit run college."

I just looked at Jack. We had been roommates then. After college, Jack had gone to law school. I was his first client when he hung up his shingle. He had been best man at both my weddings. I could never stay angry at the fat lug for long. He looked back and smiled. I smiled. Then I grinned. Then we were both laughing, long and loud. Several people at nearby tables stared until we calmed down.

"Where the hell did you find this character?," I asked.

"He is a bit much, don't you think?," Jack said. "I think the English accent has gone to his head."

"Quite, old chap!," I said in a mock British cant. We laughed again.

"You could say that a friend of mine introduced us years ago."

That caught me short. "Huh? You?"

"Yep. I've been a, er, patron for a number of years now."

"But...I mean...who...um...I mean, I've never..."

Jack set his menu down and looked straight at me. "Listen, Robert, I like sex. I'm not gay. But my one marriage was more of a disaster than your two combined. I've worked as hard and as long as you have, and command the same kind of money and respect as you do. Well, maybe not quite as much, but not too shabby either. I've got the same needs as the next guy."

"Yeah, but who..."

"Teresa."

"Your maid?!"

"She really knows how to clean my pipes and haul my ashes," he smirked at me.

"But..."

"Hey, I don't want another wife. What I do want is someone to clean my house, cook my dinner, and warm my bed. For this I do not want to relearn the law concerning community property."

"So how does this work?," I asked. The idea that Jack had gone for something like this fascinated me. And somehow reassured me, in a strange and bizarre fashion.

"I assume Wilson told you about the place in Mexico." I nodded. "Well, it really is just like a fancy resort, only with hot and cold running women. Every few years I go down there and select a new girl. Sign 'em to a three year contract." He smiled and said, "Variety is the spice of life."

He continued. "Once you're in, you can go back every year, sort of like a time share with babes. And I'm talking babes. I've never seen less than a nine down there. I mean, I don't know where Wilkerson finds them, but if it was a mine, I'd buy stock. Absolutely gorgeous."

"But the price..."

"Get real. I do your taxes, or did you forget that. For you, it's petty cash."

***

Two weeks later I made the phone call. "Mr. Wilson? This is Robert deFrame..."

- Monday -

When I got into the Cancun airport I was exhausted. I had planned to be back from the German convention in time to rest at my place on Park Avenue before I came here. Instead, the trip had gone over, and I had to fly directly here from Bonn. I can never sleep on planes and the meal was sitting like a stone in my stomach. I was tired and felt filthy.

The last thing I needed to hear, as I came off the plane, was an intercom blaring out my name. "Mr. Robert deFrame, please come to the white courtesy phone. Mr. Robert deFrame, please come to the white courtesy phone." I looked around and found a ticket agent. He pointed me towards a desk with a white phone on it. I trudged over.

As I picked up the receiver, a cool, feminine hand reached over and pushed it down again. I turned and faced a beautiful blonde. "Mr. deFrame?" I nodded. "Hello. I'm Janice. Mr. Wilkerson asked me to come into town and pick you up. Why don't you follow me? Could I have your baggage stubs?" I fumbled the stubs over and she walked towards a large sign saying LUGGAGE.

This girl was really gorgeous, a knockout. She was average height, very curvy, great legs. I studied the figure eight movement of her rear as she marched through the airport. I noticed more than a few of the other men in the airport were watching also. She was wearing a muted gray suit consisting of a stylishly short, tight gray skirt and a matching tight suit jacket. Her stockings or hose were gray, as were her high heels, which clicked delightfully across the linoleum. Topping it all off, was a small gray chauffeur's type cap.

When we got to the baggage claim area, she handed the stubs to a porter, and pointed him towards the parking area, with a few quiet words I couldn't catch. Then she led the way through the automatic doors to a large limousine. She opened the rear door to let me in. "As soon as your luggage comes out, we can go," she said smiling. Then she popped the trunk. Maybe she was a chauffeur, after all. There was no driver that I could see.

Five minutes later, the porter loaded my luggage in the trunk and Janice settled in behind the wheel. "We'll be there in about forty-five minutes," she said. "Why don't you just rest and watch the scenery. It's simply lovely this time of year."

I suppose it was, but I really didn't notice. I was too tired to care, but every time I was about to fall asleep, the limo jolted over a bump or dip. And besides, I was intensely curious about any operation with beautiful blondes as drivers. It didn't seem all that long before we pulled into a long driveway leading to a resort-like building entrance. Janice got out and opened my door for me.

"Just go inside to the front desk. I'll arrange for you bags to be taken to your suite, sir."

"Thank you."

"My pleasure," she said. Smiling, she added, "I hope to see you soon. Have fun."

"I hope so, too," I responded. And I did hope so. She really was lovely.

I entered the lobby and walked up to a large marble counter to the side. Behind the counter, several pretty young ladies were doing various secretarial type things, but one promptly came over to me. "Mr. deFrame? So good of you to join us. My name is Delia. I'm going to escort you through the welcoming process." Perhaps pretty wasn't strong enough. Delia was a short, petite brunette, in a light yellow suit similar to Janice's, albeit without the cap. "Why don't you just follow me. We'll have your luggage in your room by the time you get there."

It was a pleasure following Delia down the hallway. She wiggled and moved wonderfully. And she made up for her lack of altitude with very high spike heels. In fact, by now I had seen a number of really good looking young women around, and they all wore high heels. But I was rather surprised when she led me into a doctor's office rather than my room.

"Your first step is a fast checkup. Then you can go up to your suite and rest, or change, or whatever."

"A physical?," I asked, somewhat confused.

"Very routine," said a baritone voice behind me. I turned to face a young man in a white lab coat, with a stethoscope in his coat pocket. "I'm Doctor Henson," he said, gently taking my arm and steering me into an examination room. "You know, blood pressure, listen to your heart, a few standard tests. I just want to check out the report you furnished us," Henson said, referring to a long medical report my regular sawbones had forwarded to them. He closed the door behind him.

"Now, just take off your shirt, and Jenny will be in momentarily to check you out. Then I'll be right back." He smiled and left through a side door.

So I took off my jacket and shirt. Then, not knowing what to do, I hopped up on the exam table. Immediately thereafter, I heard the side door open again, so I hopped down. It figures.

"No, please, hop right back up there, Mr. deFrame," said a light contralto voice. I turned to see a young lady, barely nineteen, in a crisply starched white uniform come in. A name tag perched above a large breast, one of a pair of large breasts, told me this was Jenny. Not your average nurse's knockers, I thought. Or whites. Rather short, with a zipper that went from collar to hem. And I can't recall the last time I saw a nurse in white high heels. I hopped back up.

But for all her looks, Jenny gave me a thorough and professional checkout. Temperature, weight, blood pressure, even taking a couple of vials of blood. If she noticed me staring at her cleavage while she worked, she didn't say anything. But she seemed to position herself so that it was easy for me to do. Then she smiled, stepped back, and excused herself.

I sat there about fifteen minutes before she came back, this time with the quack. He popped the stethoscope into his ears and tapped and listened to my chest for a few minutes. Then he looked at me.

"Your blood pressure is a bit high, Mr. deFrame. Taking your medication?," he asked, referring to the pills I take. I assume he knew from my own doctor's report.

"Always."

He thought for a second, and said, "Well, let's assume the trip raised it a bit. It'll probably drop by tomorrow. But I want you to come down here in the morning for a recheck." Henson turned towards the girl. "Now, Jenny, if it's normal tomorrow, we'll just forget about it. Otherwise, I want to know. Okay?"

Jenny said, "Yes, doctor."

Turning back to me, he also asked, "Okay?"

"Okay."

"Well then, you might as well get dressed and you can leave here and have some fun. I hope we don't see you after tomorrow," he said with a laugh.

I laughed, too, and after they left, put my shirt and jacket back on. The tie I stuffed in my pocket. As I came out of the exam room, Delia rose from the chair she was sitting in and came over. Really great legs. "Now,," she asked, "the nickel tour? Or would you like to go up to your room and rest or freshen up?"

"Miss, right now I just want a bath and a nap! We can tour later."

"No problem. Follow me. Here's your key."

We walked together back to the lobby, and from there took an elevator to the third floor. Despite my declination of a tour, Delia kept up a running commentary on the areas we were passing through and by. The building was modern and low slung, with two main wings, and a number of open spaces and atriums, as well as a considerable number of more secluded nooks. Apparently this was the main residential area for guests, or "patrons" as we were called. In addition to the main reception desk and the doctor's clinic, the west wing also included the restaurant and a nightclub. The first floor of the south wing had pro shops for the golf course and tennis courts, and a few other things. The suites were all in the top four floors of this wing, which was the larger of the two.

When we got to the third floor we stepped out into a wide hallway. Another pretty young girl sat behind a secretarial desk. What an embarrassment of riches! Delia led me forward. The secretary's nametag said "Debra". Debra was a tall, slim, lithe young lady, with long, dark blonde hair.

"Debra, this is Mr. deFrame. He'll be staying in 307."

Debra rose and curtsied (How rare these days!). "Good morning, Mr. deFrame. I hope you enjoy your stay." Turning back to Delia, she continued. "Mr. deFrame's luggage came up a few minutes ago. I've sent Jeanine down to help get Mr. deFrame settled in."

"Excellent," replied Delia. She turned back to me and led me down the hallway. "Each floor has one of the students assigned as concierges at all times."

"Always? Even at two in the morning?"

"One never knows when the sudden urge for something will come up."

I was impressed. Such service was generally reserved for only the finest hotels.

We walked a short way down the hallway to an ornate door marked '307'. Taking the key from my hand, she unlocked the door and ushered me in. Again, very impressive. I walked into a fairly large living room, with several couches and armchairs, a wet bar, wide screen TV, even a fireplace (Although, what I'd do with a fireplace in the Yucatan, I have no idea!). To one side was a small dining room/ kitchenette. To the other, French doors led to a very large bedroom. I could see a king size four poster bed through the open doors. A third doorway led to what was obviously a bathroom which, I could tell by the layout, also opened onto the bedroom. A final set of French doors opened onto a large, private, patio. All in all, very plush and well appointed.