Girl Power (17 page)

"Rogue."

"Hi, Karol."

"Oh, Crowe, good."

"What you need, Boss?"

"Did you get that mole inside that women's party?"

"Not yet. Why?"

"Crowe, this is getting serious. In a little over four weeks, they've gone from zero members to six million and they expect to hit ten million by the end of the month."

"How did you find that out?"

"The Cummings broad was on Heidi Van Sussan's show last night. Those

were her figures. Did you see the latest poll?"

Crowe took a quick sip of coffee. "No, I just walked in. Why?"

"It's scary, that's why. Cummings is only ten percent behind our boy.

Crowe, we need someone in their camp. If you can't do it, I'll find someone who

will. Got it?"

"Yes, boss, I got it. Boss? Boss?"
Dang he hung up again. If I didn't need this job
so much, I tell the fat prick to stick it.

Suddenly, Crowe couldn't breathe and his hiatal hernia began to act up.
I

gotta get out of here.

Crowe rushed out of his office, pausing only at his secretary's desk. "Pricilla, something came up. I gotta go. I'll see you in the morning."

"All right, Mr. Magnon."

~ * * ~

On the way home, Crowe had an epiphany.
Of course. Why didn't I think of

that? Melissa would make the perfect secret agent.
He made a U-turn and headed to Melissa's condo.

When he
arrived, Melissa was in the middle of her exercise routine. She looked good—extremely good—in a form fitting pink leotard with her long

raven hair in pigtails. If he ever got the nerve to dump his wife, Melissa would make the ideal trophy wife—fifteen years younger than his forty-six years.

They didn't have all that much in common, but boy was she nice to look at,

not to mention what an asset she would be, fixed up to the nines, on his arm at

Republican party events.

"What are you doing here, darling? It's not Monday, you eager boy."

Crowe snapped out of his reverie.

She stared at him, legs spread, a slight tilt to her smiling face.

"I…ah…have a discreet problem I have to work out, and with all that's

going on at the office, I couldn't think. How was Lush today?"

"Rimbaugh? I don't listen to that male chauvinist anymore. What he did to

that poor law student was despicable. He ranted against her for days. Did you

hear it?"

He cringed. "Yeah, I heard it and about it."

"And?" She set her fists on her hips.

The chairman took a seat on the couch, hoping it would end the discussion.

"You're right. He used bad judgment."

"Bad judgment! He called her every name in the book."

Crowe scratched his receding hairline. "I know. It was unfortunate. At least he apologized."

Melissa rolled her eyes. "Sure he did."

Glancing around, Crowe asked, "Where's today's USA Today?"

"I canceled it."

He furrowed his brow. "Why?"

"It turned out to be one of those liberal papers you warned me against."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because Wolf News would report something and USA Today would report

the same thing, but it wouldn't be the same. It's a good thing there's Wolf News."

Crowe was pleased and frustrated. "Well baby, you don't have to read it. I

count on reading USA Today to see how the news is being portrayed by the

mainstream
media."

"I wasn't reading it. That's why I canceled it."

"I'll tell you what. I think I'll get the New York Times. But don't read it, all right?"

"Whatever you say." Melissa slinked close enough to Crowe that he could smell her exotic perfume. "So what's this secret problem you have to work out?"

God, she was beautiful and that perfume—it always made him want to take

her in the bedroom and… "I can't tell you—it's a secret."

Her big beautiful blue eyes narrowed and her lips pouted. "You can't even

tell your Mistress?"

When he shook his head, she ran her glistening tongue across her upper lip

and then her lower lip. "I just love it when you hold out on me and force me to get rough."

Is she the one?
The mole must be classy and reasonably smart. Someone who doesn't have a political history that can be checked. Someone loyal and

trustworthy, who believes in the cause.

~ * * ~

Melissa lowered herself beside him on the couch, and sidled until their legs

rubbed. She set her graceful hand on his thigh, leaned in and whispered. "Are you sure you don't want to tell me your secret problem?"

He started fidgeting.

Crowe baby. Don't make me get rough with you. You know you want to tell

me before it's too late."

Melissa dug her sharp fingernails into his thigh, "Oww! Jesus Christ! I want to, but I can't."

"Why?" She bit his ear.

"Ahhh, God, almighty! Because, Karol Rogue swore me to secrecy." Crowe turned bright red, jumped up and pushed his palm against his forehead. "Oh, God, I wasn't supposed to say that." He began to pace. What am I going to do?"

The bulge in Crowe's crotch spurred Melissa on.

"I guess I need to tie you up in bed and punish you."

"Yes please. Punish me for telling you that and for having lewd thoughts

about you. Force me to let you be our secret mole in the new women's party,

would you?"

They all longed for
the
pleasure/pain that only she, Mistress Melissa, could deliver. She gazed into his blue eyes. "You want me to be a spy?"

She gazed into his blue eyes.

Crowe squeaked, "Yes, but not before you humiliate and spank me."

Hmmm, I always wanted to be a spy.
"Yes, I agree. I'll tie you up and severely punish you until you divulge all your wicked little secrets. I even have a brand new leather cat-o-nine tails for you."

~ * * ~

The following Monday morning, Sally received a call from Millie. "Sorry to

bother you, but Melissa Abrams is here to see you."

Melissa Abrams? "I don't know Melissa Abrams, Millie. What's the purpose

of her visit?"

"She says she has a proposition, which will take only five minutes. If you're not interested, she'll thank you for your time and leave."

What now? Sally sighed. "All right, five minutes."

A dark haired, young woman, who could have been a fashion model glided

up to Sally's desk. She wore a belted, black and white sheath, and black brimmed hat. Holding her hand out, she announced, "Hi, I'm Melissa Abrams. You must be Sally Cummings."

Sally shook her hand. "I am. Please take a seat Ms. Abrams, and tell me why you are here."

Melissa sat in one of the three chairs that fronted Sally's desk. "Excuse me for barging in unannounced. First, let me say I am totally blown away with the

idea of a women's party. I am so overwhelmed that I must be part of it."

"That's nice. Do you live in the area?"

"Yes, quite close, actually. I live in Alexandria, Virginia."

Sally cleared her throat. "What do you have in mind? I take it you didn't

drive up here to accept an unpaid volunteer position."

Melissa flicked her hand as if chasing off a pesky fly. "Money is

unimportant. I'm here to help you get elected in any way I can."

"Well, that's commendable. What do you have in mind?"

"First let me ask you something. Are you planning to buy a new wardrobe

for your campaign?"

"I…ah, don't know. Clothes never crossed my mind."

"Nor, should it. You are running for the most important job in the universe.

You need to concentrate on being the most brilliant politician you can be. You

don't need distractions, you need
moi."
Melissa pointed at her chest.

Sally shifted in her chair. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

Melissa handed her a business card.

Sally accepted the card. "Françoise's Fashion Boutique Salon and Spa. The

savvy woman's one-stop location for glamour." Sally glanced at Melissa. "Is this your shop?"

"Yes. You are a very important person now and should dress and be

groomed as such."

"Are you proposing that I buy clothes from you and visit your spa?"

Melissa snickered. "No, you won't have to buy anything. I will choose your

clothes for the occasion. I am also a beautician and will tastefully do your hair and make-up. I will be by your side wherever you go, seeing that you always

look your best as your personal assistant. Assuming you want me, of course."

"Of course I'd like to have you, but first we must check your references.

Here's an application for you to fill out."

Melissa, took the application, quickly scratched in the required information

and handed it to Sally. "Here. You won't find anything wrong. If you have some free time tomorrow, I'd love for you to come by my salon so I can show you what

I can do."

"I would love to, but since I started this organization, the words free and time have been oxymoronic."

Melissa laughed. "And now that you're running for President it'll be worse, but don't worry, our spa is open until midnight. Just call me when you're coming and I'll meet you there."

~ * * ~

Lindy bumped into a woman as she strode out of Sally's office. "Umph!

Excuse me!"

The woman flashed a Mona Lisa smile. "The fault was all mine." Lindy

watched with admiration as the beautiful woman sashayed away. She turned to

Sally. "Who was that?"

"Her name's Melissa Abrams."

"She's gorgeous. What did she want?"

Sally shrugged. "I'm not sure." She handed the card to Lindy. "She owns a combination dress store and salon. She says she wants to be my fashion

coordinator, groomer, and personal assistant. Here's her application."

Lindy scanned it. "Born 1981 in Charlottesville, Virginia. Madeira Prep

Boarding School, degree from University of Virginia in Psychology, masters from

American University in Political Science. Miss Virginia and second runner-up

Miss USA in 2001. Former fashion model. Former fashion consultant and

designer. No wonder she looked like a million bucks."

Sally nodded her head. "Yes, she did look nice, but a little too flamboyant for my tastes."

Lindy scrunched her nose. "I'm sure, for you, she'd be more reserved."

"Perhaps. Lindy, she said I wouldn't have to pay for anything. She would

give me the dresses and do my hair and make-up for free. It would be nice if she was for real, but honestly, I smell something fishy."

"Maybe, but don't forget the publicity she would garner from being the first credible woman candidate for president's clothier. She'd become famous. I could

see her business doubling, tripling or more.

"I'm thinking we should try her out for one of the magazine covers. You're

scheduled for In Style, Thursday at 3:30."

Sally tilted her head and smiled broadly. "My, wouldn't she be perfect for

that." "Yes. Let's make an appointment for that morning."

"I'll do it. Now what did you come in here for?"

Lindy's mind was blank. "I don't remember."

~ * * ~

Sally and Lindy agreed their little jaunt to Françoise's Fashion and Salon

was like a gift from heaven. Neither of them realized how stressed and

exhausted they'd become.

Melissa insisted they get the full spa treatment including a trip to the sauna

and very much needed massages before doing their hair and applying their

make-up.

And when it came to clothes, Lindy had been right. No vampish, sexy look

for Sally.

"You, Ms. Cummings, I will make look dignified and Presidential." Melissa dressed her tasteful and stately. Sally looked beautiful, and so did Lindy. "And you, Ms. Rollins, you hide your beauty. I will bring it out. You will be my black haired Barbie Doll. I will make you look glamorous."

They spent hours there, but before they left Melissa picked out a half dozen

gorgeous outfits, magnificent ball gowns for each of them, and insisted they take everything with them. They left with so much booty it barely fit in Lindy's SUV.

"Wow, that was something."

Sally laughed. "Yes, it was like waking up Christmas morning when I was

six and walking into a roomful of wonderful toys."

"Yes, exactly. What time is it?"

"A little after one."

Lindy started her car. "Plenty of time."

"For what?"

"Before I take you to the shoot, go by headquarters and show our newly

acquired chic off to the gang. Sally you really do look gorgeous."

Sally chuckled. "And you look dazzling. You really do."

Lindy gazed at herself in the rearview mirror. "You really think so?"

"Yes."

"I just can't get used to looking so…so feminine."

"Well, I for one, like it. Melissa is a very talented woman. I think we should keep her around."

Lindy snickered and dipped her chin in one affirmative nod. "Can't have

too many Christmases."

~ * * ~

Jezabel set Crowe and Willie Joe's quarter pound Booty Burger baskets with

curly fries on the table in front of them. "Here're your burgers boy's. That'll be $24.50." They were enjoying lunch in one of their favorite hangouts—the Body Shop, an all-nude cabaret. Watching a particularly healthy specimen of

womanhood take it all off, Crowe instructed the monokini-clad waitress, "Put it on my tab, Jez."

Without taking their eyes off the dancer, Crowe and Willie Joe ate their

burgers. Willie nudged Crowe. "Mmmm-uh. Too bad that sweet thang isn't on

the menu. I could just spread her legs, pour some Heinz catsup you know where,

and gobble her up."

"You got that ri—, hey, wait a minute, you're married to my sister."

Red-faced, Willie Joe backtracked. "Well you know. It was just guy talk. I