Turbulence Read online

  With a handshake I departed, clearly relieved that I had not alienated Len and that he was on top of things.

  Twelve

  There was a message on my machine from Allison. She should arrive with the package at LaGuardia at eight-fifteen. She says she called flight scheduling and asked for an extra two days for personal reasons. No sense coming to New York and only staying a day, she said. It was fine with me. I’ve missed her for almost two weeks. I just have to make sure that I leave time for Len and what he will ask of me, as well as taking a good share of Tuesday to prepare for the Board meeting on Wednesday.

  I poured a Dewars on the rocks with water and dialed Gian Marino’s. The maître d’ answered and I identified myself.

  “Mr. Logan, so nice to hear from you. Are you coming to dinner tonight?” he said in his overly smooth Italian accented voice.

  “Yes, Guiseppe. Dinner for two, please, at nine to nine thirty.”

  “Good, we missed you. Traveling, yes?”

  “Yes. I’ve been away a couple of weeks and bringing someone who’s never been to Gian’s before, so do it up right.”

  “Yes, sir, you know I will. Do you want the circular booth?”

  “Yes, Guiseppe, I’d like that, if it’s available.”

  “I will see to it, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  The red-eye flight was beginning to have an impact and I set my alarm and immediately drifted into needed sleep. The alarm went off in the midst of a pleasant dream with Allison as its main character. I was at once alive, refreshed, and, to put it crudely, horny. I was glad she was on her way. Ten days, twenty-five thousand miles of travel, and lonesome hotel rooms had me at the snorting stage. This was one of those times that if I could bottle it and sell it, I’d put Viagra out of business. All I thought about since I woke up was sex, and when I’m like this, I wonder if every guy at my age has similar feelings or whether there’s something wrong with me. Or, hopefully, something very right and very healthy, and having come down on the side of healthy, I headed for the shower.

  I had enough time with her flight arriving just after eight that I could spend at least an hour at the New York Athletic Club. The last workout I had was in Acapulco and I need to buff up badly. Having finished a half hour on the treadmill, I walked past the machines to the free weights. There’s nothing wrong with the machines, but for a fast pump, nothing does it like a bench for the chest with the forty-five pounders, the slanted curls for the arms, and the wheel for the abs. With those three taking a little more than a half hour, I took my second shower and cabbed home to dress for the evening.

  I’m pleased that when I’m about to leave on a trip, I always take the time to leave the apartment clean and neat, so that when I return, it welcomes me. And this time, I will have little to do except light cleaning, checking the bar supplies, and running out just around the corner for a quick purchase of breakfast edibles. As a hotelman, sometimes I’m accused by my friends of being spoiled because of my frequent use of room service in my hotels.

  But for the apartment and condo dwellers on the Upper East Side, food, beverages, floral arrangements, specialty pizzas, full dinners for six, and even illegal drugs are readily transported to their homes if they’re willing to pay the premium to do so. As a matter of fact, before I left New York for Acapulco, the Times reported a story of the investigation of an upscale florist on Third Avenue being a front for the delivery of cocaine in the flower arrangements that could be ordered by phone. Which reminded me to go out again for a floral piece for my couch table before I take the cab to the airport.

  I’m fifteen minutes early looking for a beautiful lady at the assigned gate. I don’t know what she’s wearing and I may have a problem because the flight is full. As I distractedly pulled out Len’s address from my inside suit pocket, I hear that lovely voice even when excited calling “Kevin,” and I needn’t have worried, she found me. I surprised myself, as overjoyed to see her again, I put my arms around her, lifted her off the floor, and then gave her a kiss rivaling the going away one at the Dallas airport.

  If anyone were watching us, they would think we had been separated for a year instead of ten days. She is flushed and smiling from ear to ear and I suppose I looked the same way, but it’s great.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” I exclaim.

  “That’s all? Aren’t you glad to see me?”

  “First things first. Aren’t you glad to know I think you’re beautiful? And yes, I am really happy to see you.”

  She nuzzled my neck and said, “I really, really missed you.”

  “Great, I feel the same. Let’s get out of here before we get carried away.”

  “Okay, Mr. Logan, anything you say. I’m at your service.”

  “Fantastic, that’s what I want to hear. Let’s go,” I said as I put my arms around her waist.

  “Did I tell you how much I missed you?”

  “Yes, Allison, you did, and you can show me when we get home.”

  “Okay. You know, I really don’t know that much about New York because we go from the airport to the hotel and out again early with a one night layover, so I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Allison, you’re going to see my New York and you’re going to get everything that you deserve.”

  “Oh, that sounds yummy. I get New York and Kevin, too. I’m so excited.”

  “Enough already, I got to get my head straight,” I said as we move toward the baggage carousel. I hailed a cab and gave the driver Len’s address, and he reacts like he drives there every day. Fifteen minutes later we’re in front of Len’s house, holding the black box retrieved from her bag. Len accepts the box, I introduce them, he promises to call tomorrow, and we’re on our way to the apartment.

  We make a brief stop at my apartment on Forty-Ninth, I pour a drink for both of us, and she retires to the shower to dress for dinner. As I relax for a few moments, I turn on the CD player and ruminate a moment about my visit earlier with Len. His offhand comment about not leaving the black box in the apartment because of the possibility that “they might be looking for it and could be watching the apartment” is disconcerting at least and alarming at worst. I get up and close the drapes, and promise myself to be extremely careful from now on whenever I enter the apartment.

  Allison appears in a purple dress, nineteen-forties style. Perfect. It clings to every curve, her v-shaped front with more than ample décolletage, and has a belt that not only accentuates her breasts and waist, but the clingy material spectacularly enhances her thighs and derrière. She certainly thought about the impression it would make.

  “You like?” she turns around and asks.

  “Yea, I really like. You hit the jackpot with that selection. My first reaction is that I want to look at you walk around and then I want to rip it off.”

  “We’ve got all night, anticipation is the delicious part.”

  “Okay, lets go get something to eat before I decide to eat you right here.”

  “Promises, promises,” she teases as I get ready to lock up.

  Gian’s is at Sixtieth and Third, just past the ramp to the Bridge, a quiet little side street dotted with several bars and the only restaurant on the block. Guiseppe greets us. “Welcome Mr. Logan and Signore Bella Magnifica!” It’s probably all crap. I doubt if it’s even correct Italian, but magnificent beautiful woman is how it’s received by the ladies and they eat it up. It’s part of the charm of Gian Marino’s.

  “This is Allison, Guiseppe. She visits New York often and is a very good friend of mine. If she comes with another lady, please treat her the way you treat me. On the other hand, if she comes with another man, she’s just another customer,” I say smugly.

  “No, Signor, you are joking about that last part. Please follow me” he replies as he picks up menus and walks to the back to the circular booth in the corner.” Allison is all eyes as she scans the restaurant as we walk and then slides enthusiastically into the booth.

  “Ooh,” she says,
“I love this. Is this your special place where you take all your women?”

  “Actually, no, not all, only the very special ones.” I smile and she gives me a gentle punch on the arm. “Seriously, they have great food and it is, in fact, one of my favorite places, but I don’t come here often because you’ll get very fat in a hurry. Look over at those tables at the opposite corner. See those swarthy gentlemen, several bald, but most of them fat?”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, I would make a good guess that they are from New Jersey and probably part of the local mafia. That in itself, besides proof that the food is very Italian and very rich, is a great compliment, because there are literally dozens of Italian restaurants in the city, but this one is authentic. On one occasion that I was here, my host pointed out Frank Sinatra dining with several friends.”

  Over cocktails we peruse the extensive menu. “All right,” Allison decides, “everything looks great, but I’d rather have you order for me.” After a few questions about her preferences, I decide on Veal Picatta for the both of us and suggest as the side for her Fettuccini Alfredo and for me linguine with white clam sauce, accompanied by a bottle of a crisp and clear Pinot Grigio.

  As dinner progressed, anyone noticing us would swear that we were either long time lovers or recently married because of the easy repartee, as well as the mutual sharing of the Fettuccini Alfredo and linguine, between us. It was a delightful dinner for Allison and she was clearly thrilled with everything and said so. When dinner was through, I suggested that we walk across the street to the Corner Lounge, appropriately named for its location on the corner of Third Avenue.

  Michael was the bartender who I came to know because I enjoyed on occasion a late night after dinner drink at his place after Gian’s. He had seen me with some very pretty ladies, including a Playboy bunny who had accompanied me previously. Sitting at the bar, both Allison and me in a wonderful mood, and sipping a Stinger, I nodded my head toward her and asked Michael, “What do you think?”

  He smiled, looked up from his work at the sink, and said emphatically, “forgeddaboutit!”

  Allison stopped her giggling, turned to me with a quizzical look, and asked, “Is he saying that you should forget about me? What does he mean?”

  I explained it was the highest compliment a New Yorker could give, that the designation meant she was so beautiful, words were indescribable and thus, the ultimate compliment. She was a “forgeddaboutit!”

  We laughed about that compliment in the cab on the way to the dance lounge. The late night lounge was about halfway home from Gian’s and the trio didn’t start until after ten. The place was dark when we walked in and we had to acclimate ourselves to the surroundings.

  There were a number of small round tables around the dance floor with the trio, piano, bass, and drums, along with a female singer, barely illuminated with a faint blue spotlight. Several waiters were serving drinks among the small tables and the dance floor had only two couples on it as we were seated. The music was Gershwin type tunes famously sung by Sinatra, Sara Vaughn, Mel Torme, and Ella Fitzgerald, and all the music before the advent of Rock and Roll, those classic love songs that never died and never will in places such as this in New York City.

  I had not told Allison about my plans for the entire evening, so this was my romantic surprise and she was delighted. Not waiting for the drinks we ordered, I took her by the hand and led her onto the dance floor. The lead singer was giving a great rendition of Sara Vaughn’s “Spring Can Really Hang You Up the Most,” and I pulled Allison tight to me and led her across and around the floor. She followed flawlessly, and immediately I felt a rush of elation that she could enjoy with me one of my real interests, dancing to this kind of music.

  God, I think, I have in my arms one beautiful woman who dances in perfect unison with me and is enjoying the very same music that moves me so much. I am some happy guy right now. People are beginning to get up and join us on the floor. There are now a half dozen couples moving to the music, and as we circle the floor, I am becoming more passionate by the moment. I slide my guide hand from her back to her waist and pull her closer to me, and I am hard against her. I brush her lips with mine and nibble at her ear.

  “I am so happy you can follow me like this, Allison,” I murmur in her ear.

  “Dancing like you do, it’s easy for anyone to follow, but I’ll kill the first woman who tries.”

  “Now don’t get possessive,” I tease.

  “Why not? You live in New York, you know the best restaurants and romantic dance clubs, and you’re a great dancer. I’ll fight off the competitors with a stick if I have to.”

  “You left out something from my resume.” I grinned.

  “What, you fishing for more compliments now?”

  “You didn’t mention my love making.” I grinned even wider.

  “Look, I’m here with you. I don’t have to fly across the country to chase a guy, so that part’s a given. And that’s the main reason I’m here, buster. You are great fun, and I want to spend as much time with you as I can.”

  We returned to our table and drinks, holding hands and looking into each other’s eyes. For the rest of the evening, we barely spoke, moving silently to the music and kissing each other tenderly. During the last dance we were so pressed into each other, I was leading with my hip bone and she was following with her eyes half closed and a closed mouth smile on her lovely face.

  As I kissed her neck, she moved her head to kiss my lips hard. She held her lips there for an extended period and momentarily I felt her shudder. Alarmed, I whispered, “Allison, honey, are you all right?”

  She looked up at me and said, “I am very all right, Kevin darling. I just had an orgasm on the dance floor.”

  I hastily settled our check, left a generous tip, and hailed a cab to the apartment. Fortunately, it was only five blocks because we were so locked into each other’s embrace, we would have consummated our lovemaking in the back seat of the taxi if we had stayed for six.

  Thirteen

  Passion and wanting was our mutual condition. We had consumed a few drinks, but we were not inebriated except with each other. I had barely closed the door when I began kissing her with a passion and a longing that surprised me. I never remembered wanting a woman as much as I did Allison at this moment. Apparently she felt the same. She had kicked off her heels with her back to the just closed door, and was standing on her tiptoes with one hand tugging at my belt.

  At the same time, while kissing her neck, I had unhooked her dress and was pulling the shoulders of it forward to reveal her bra. I then unhooked it while she completed releasing my belt and unbuttoning the top of my pants. My mouth was immediately on her luscious nipples while her hand was on my manhood. In this ridiculous position I picked her up and stumbled to the king-size bed.

  I laid her on the bed and proceeded to undress her, with each piece of clothing uncovering flesh to kiss, lick, and nuzzle. I was mad with passion and wanting. Finally, having undressed her and myself, I moved beside her and over her, kissing, nibbling, and licking every square inch down her body and lingering at her breasts, her stomach, and finally at her womanly essence.

  At the same time she was reciprocating, moving her body as if to capture each and every kiss and touch by tongue or hands. She had begun moaning and encouraging me to each new level with guttural sounds and sweet expressions. Oohs and aahs. Oh, Gods and Oh, my Gods. Yesses and yesses and don’t stops. And Oh, Kevins, that just drove me wild. Putting my face between her, and my tongue against her, while my hands and fingers kneaded her breasts and nipples, she began moving her torso in undulating motions and holding my head in her hands, she then began wildly thrashing, shouting, and convulsing into orgasm after orgasm, and then pulled me up and guided my penis deep into her. The warmth and wetness of her closed over me, and I immediately felt that this was heaven. As much as I normally am able to hold back to ensure pleasuring the woman to the utmost, this time I submitted to her control.

&
nbsp; “Darling,” she asked, “will you come with me?”

  “Yes, sweetheart I will,” I replied and I deliberately began the rhythm that would allow me to grant her request. I confess I was pleased to be liberated from my usual macho focus and allowed to immediately release. It only took a few minutes of thrusting before I could hear her moaning again and feel a new warm wet wave from her. I let myself join in her climax that was heightened by the simultaneous release.

  As we lay back, spent, she turned to me.

  “Kevin, you dirty bastard” she said with a huge grin. “That was supposed to be foreplay and you turned it into during and after play, but it was wonderful.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, “you are some hot little lady, and I love it. It would be an awful shame if you weren’t, because that beautiful face and body of yours were meant for loving. You are truly a forgeddaboutit!”

  After some pillow talk and more kissing, I asked her if she was willing to continue.

  “Whoa, aren’t you the lover boy,” she teased. “You’re not expected to ravish me all night long, and if you’re not up to it, fine. On the other hand, it’s so delicious, I want some more, with one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That you let me make love to you with me in full control.”

  “Wonderful. I’d love to be ravished by you.”

  With that announcement, she began to reciprocate with her mouth and tongue on me. When she thought I was fully ready, she mounted me and took over the lovemaking at her own pace and control. Her rhythm, her dirty talk, and her beautiful body brought me to another level and kept me there for the longest time. I didn’t want to stop and I didn’t want to finish it. I was in another world of suspended utter joy. She controlled the movement of both our bodies until I could hold it no longer, and she leaned over and whispered in my ear.

  “Kevin, I’m ready again, please do it with me.”

  I had the strongest and deepest orgasm I had ever experienced, and as the feeling rushed over me like a pounding ocean wave breaking into foam, I involuntarily could not hold back the words, “Oh God, Allison, I love you so.”