The game's afoot (long), and 'Sherlock' Layne is on the case!

Betrayed
By Cherysse St. Claire  ©

Chapter Nine: The Game’s Afoot

The weeks passed; March, April, and into May. I won’t dwell on the
mechanics of the surgery or post-op. Either Angie or Dianna was at my
side almost constantly, but never together. I don’t want to say I
‘juggled’ them, but it was sometimes a delicate balancing act. I was
head-over-heels for Dianna, but couldn’t deny my feelings for Angie.
How could I choose between one or the other? In truth, the choice might
not be mine to make; I might end up with neither.

Dianna, especially, was much more emotional than I had ever seen her
before. She fussed over me, telling me how much she flat-out adored me.
Then she would burst into tears for no reason I could see. Hey, I
thought I was supposed to be the victim of raging hormones around here!
I certainly appreciated her raw display of emotion for me, yet I
couldn’t help but wonder; was there more behind her tears than just
love?

My nose looked… pert — another new descriptor I thought I would never
use about myself. It was still a touch swollen - and numb; they told me
that goes away after about a year. OK, I liked my eyes; sue me.
Everyone else was crazy about them, especially when they were made up.
My cheekbones and lips were both fuller. It was scary to see people I
knew and cared about just stare at me, speechless, captivated. I knew I
would get used to it — I had to get used to a lot of things — but at
the time, it was still new.

The rest of the body was new, too. I had already been wearing a corset
every day before the surgery, so that didn’t make a difference. The
results were different. Angie and I were both on target to have twenty-
inch corseted waistlines by the time of the show. Dianna’s corseted
waist was already eighteen inches - the bitch. Paul was absolutely
ecstatic.

The prosthetic breasts were gone. I was a full DD-cup all by myself;
well, me and Perma-Plast. They looked huge at first; but then, so had
Dianna when I first met her. That was one more thing I was getting used
to in a hurry. It was nice to be able to show off my cleavage — a
modest amount at work and more on my own time. My backside had filled
out just as nicely.

This is one of those little joys women never tell men; only each other.
There had been a few occasions — becoming more frequent with time — I
had walked past some guy in the office or on the street, traveling in
the other direction. In a second or two, I heard a thump or clang as he
walked into a wall, file cabinet or light pole because he wasn’t
watching where he was going. If any woman tells you that doesn’t bring
a smile to her face, she is lying to you.

The physical transition was surprisingly easy. The mental transition —
with the understanding I would not be changing back — was much harder.
It took a while to get beyond the angst and anguish. How could I
abandon all that I had been? I came to realize I hadn’t.
Intellectually, I was still the same person, doing much the same
routine. The packaging was different. The perceptions, both internal
and external, were different. The emotions also were different; in
part, due to the hormones. Over time, my perception on a whole was one
of gain, not loss. Remember that hot fudge sundae? What if you could
eat from it every day, never lose your taste for it, and never gain an
ounce?

Upon returning from Post-Op, I surprised even myself how quickly I
wrapped my mind around work. I had watched CNN and CNBC while I was
recuperating. I had seen some report or other about the continuing
drought in the western U.S. and Canada. As soon as I was up and around,
I booked a flight west to talk to some of the farm groups that had
appeared on television.

I heard first-hand from them how bad the situation really was, minus
the candy-coated coverage the corporate-owned networks had given the
story. I called the office immediately and ordered STG to gobble up
Winter Wheat futures like Pac-Man. About a month later, the Department
of Agriculture announced the harvest would be down about twenty
percent, due to the drought. Harvest gold turned into real gold for us
as the price of Winter Wheat skyrocketed.

Most people had not anticipated how bad the Asian Bird Flu epidemic
would be, nor how it would affect poultry prices here. It was simple;
after having to destroy a significant percentage of its poultry
population, China would need to re-supply itself with untainted
chickens; a lot of them. We bought poultry futures — and made out like
the fox guarding the hen house. Essentially, China caught a cold, the
rest of the world sneezed, and we cornered the market on tissues.

Those trades, on top of the oil deal, had made this a banner year for
our company — and the year wasn’t even half-over. The Christmas bonus
checks were gonna fill everyone with holiday cheer this year and they
were looking at STG as their ‘Santa’. The guys in Strategic Trades were
calling my instincts eerie; Twilight Zone stuff. They claimed it
was like Lance never left; that he cloned himself into me, somehow. I
just smiled and thanked them for the lovely compliment. I didn’t mean
to intimidate them. I had worked with some of them three years; they
just didn’t know it.

I thanked my lucky stars I was so good as a commodities trader; Sam
Spade, I wasn’t. Memorial Day was two weeks away and I didn’t feel any
closer cracking the case than before my surgery. Angie and I were in
rehearsals for the fashion show. Dianna had gone to visit a girlfriend
in Los Angeles, but promised to be back in plenty of time. Paul was
not worried by her absence. As a veteran of previous shows, he was
confident she knew what he expected of her and would “come up to speed”
quickly.

I was grateful for the respite from throwing Angie and Dianna together.
Then again, perhaps I needed to throw them together to force one or the
other to show her hand — if, indeed, either was in league with Jeff
Spencer. No one in my inner circle had given the slightest hint of
being in on a conspiracy. There were no signs coming from outside,
either. Was it all a desperate ruse on the quarterback’s part? C’mon,
Guys; I can’t make the bait any riper, juicier, or more tempting. On
the other hand, maybe I can….

Rob and Jim had one of those society charity things to go to the third
Saturday of the month. The Mayor and most of the City’s movers and
shakers would be there, including those in the various sports
franchises. To the boys, it was a given that Angie and I would
accompany them. In fact, they put it to us exactly that way — at the
Executive Staff Meeting Thursday morning. They were at a loss for our
reaction. What do you mean the invitation took you completely by
surprise? It doesn’t take you three days to get dressed, does it? You
know those guys who go berserk with an assault rifle in the workplace?
I’m beginning to understand…. Anyway, I had more important things to
dwell on at that moment. I didn’t have a thing to wear… or did I?

I must have stared at the dress a hundred times, hanging there in my
closet. You want to talk about guilt? I had left messages for Dianna at
the number she gave me, but she hadn’t called me back yet. Sure, I
could have cruised Michigan Avenue and found something else. My
instincts were nudging me; there was something about this dress and
its connotations to the unfolding conspiracy that made it the perfect
choice. If this be my ‘Maltese Falcon’, let me wear it well….

Oops! Perhaps a little too well. I was now bigger on top than Dianna. I
had gone the whole route; salon, then the red calfskin corset and
matching thong, sheer black hose, the dress itself, and the jewels. I
wouldn’t need the coat; it was unseasonably warm for May (this, in a
city where it is not unheard of to see snow the second week in June,
then ninety-plus degrees by the Fourth of July). I overflowed the
bodice provocatively. The skirt fit my tush snugly, too. Then again, if
I was chumming for sharks, why do half-measures?

Rob looked positively dashing in his black tie and tux. In line with
the marine analogy, he gasped like a fish out of water when he first
laid eyes on me. It took a very stout straight-arm to his chest to
bring him back into focus and away from his all-too-obvious advance.
We were doing the ‘star turn’ all the way; he helped me into the back
seat of the limo, then seated himself next to me. We picked up Jim and
Angie, then sipped champagne on our way to the City Cultural Center on
Washington Street, formerly the Central Library.

“I knew I would see you in that dress sooner or later,” Angie gushed.
“My God, Girlfriend; if you take a deep breath, you’re gonna bust right
out of it, you shameless hussy, you!”

“And this,” I retorted with mock cattiness, “from someone whose body
makes a Donatella Versace original look like Frederick’s of Hollywood?”

Actually, Angie was stunning in the fuscia satin bustier-style sheath.
We had fled the office immediately after the Thursday morning meeting
and found it in the couturier salon at ‘Needless Markup’. Her eyes
glazed over when she saw herself in it in the three-way mirror. Those
eyes filled with tears when she read the price tag. She wept openly
when I put it on my platinum card.

“Listen, puta,” I had teased, “you got me into this mess three months
ago. I’ll be damned if I’m going it alone.”

I had kissed her softly on the cheek to soften the faux blow.

“Besides,” I had cooed, “you deserve it.”

There was more champagne and canapés when we arrived, plus an honest-
to-God string quartet in the main salon and a harpist in the smaller
‘Conservatory’ — what, once upon a time, had been the Reference Room.
This was rare air, even for someone who has been in the corporate
culture for a while. There is something intimidating about rubbing
elbows with people whose last names appear on public buildings and
corporate logos, not to mention packages of hot dogs or bacon. Angie
was already on Cloud Nine and I was working on getting a leg up.

Apparently, we were perceived as some kind of visiting royalty, on loan
to the two investment wunderkind of the hour. Boy, did we get the
double- and triple-takes! Rob and Jim were basking in the glow of
attention they were receiving, both for their achievements and their
choice of companions. Astute politician that he is, even the Mayor had
compliments to pay, citing us as “a shining example of what makes The
Great City of Chicago great.” Considering the direction of his gaze, I
wasn’t sure if he was referring to our investment successes or our
bustlines.

One of the many things I admire about Rob Nelson is his utter
selflessness when it comes to giving credit where credit is due.

“I would love to tell you it was some well-planned grand strategy on my
part,” he began, turning my way. “In fact, it was really…”

He paused in mid-sentence as he felt the increasing pressure of my
stiletto heel on his instep. I shook my head imperceptibly, then hugged
his arm tightly and inhaled deeply, inflating my chest to epic
proportions.

“… a spur-of the moment thing, which I credit to my companion, Lisa
Layne,” he ad-libbed. “She and her friend, Angelina Torres, were
generous enough to take time off from their careers in Hollywood to
visit Jim and myself this past few months and lend their moral support.
You know how it is; when your muse beckons, you follow.”

He’s quick on his feet, too. I like that in a man. I couldn’t have
asked for a better cover story. Since they would not be able to place
our names, faces, or anatomies to any big-budget Hollywood productions,
I was sure our new admirers would rush home that night and check their
other DVDs.

This was not some sudden attack of modesty on my part. I was seeing
other ‘movers and shakers’ — of the gridiron variety - interspersed
throughout the crowd. My instincts had flashed me a warning; this might
not be the best time to take a high profile. Then again, in this dress,
with my push-up corset, I couldn’t help but take a high profile.

As is so often the case in these society affairs — like I would know,
right? — our little group became separated by the dynamics of shifting
conversations and conversationalists. I had spent a goodly amount of
time charming the pants off a group of industrialists (figuratively-
speaking, but not for lack of desire on their part) when I sensed a
body immediately behind mine; not touching, but definitely inside my
personal space. Rob was deft about showing his affection without
appearing overly familiar in such a setting. I smiled and moved a
fraction of an inch closer in response. After a moment I turned….

Okay, you would think by then I would have been used to incipient heart
failure; not so. Jeff Spencer’s eyes were almost as blue as mine. His
had a predatory glint to them, sizing me up like a piece of meat. Even
in my nearly-six-inch heels, I had to look up to him.

“I couldn’t help but notice you are the most beautiful woman here,” he
offered.

Now that was suave — NOT! Are you sure you graduated from high school,
Big Boy?

So this was it. He had picked this time and place — in front of the
city’s elite — to ‘out’ me as a man. Mentally, I judged the vertical
distance from floor to crotch, factored in flexibility, heel height,
plus strength and speed of my up-thrusting knee. Yep; that should
just about do it. Sopranos, here he comes….

“Why, thank you, Sir!” I oozed with appropriate unctuousness. “Have we
met before?”

“I would remember if we had,” he schmoozed back. “Allow me; I’m Jeff
Spencer of the…”

“Of course,” I interjected. “I’ve seen you on TV. I must say, the
camera angles don’t do you justice.”

No, but I will. Just give me an excuse, Sport-o. Your next endorsement
will be for the Vienna Boy’s Choir instead of the Vienna Sausage
Company.

“On the subject of Justice,” he segued….

Here it comes….

“…it’s positively criminal for a gorgeous woman like you to be standing
there with an empty champagne flute. What do you say we waylay a waiter
and rob him blind?

So that’s your game; take me someplace private and apply a little
blackmail, with the implied threat of outing me to everyone who is
anyone. You are slicker than I gave you credit for, Buster. Okay; let’s
play. Perhaps I can get you to give up your partner, too….

“Oh, let’s,” I chirped, slipping my arm through his. “They aren’t being
nearly attentive enough anyway. Perhaps we can shake things up a bit.”

Believe me, the smug smile and undulating tush was all an act. Inside,
I was screaming. The knee ploy was useless at this angle, unless I
could spin on his arm really fast. Godzilla here could crush me like a
grape. On the other hand, if I timed it right, I could skewer his foot
with my stiletto heel and pin it to the floor, right through that
ultra-sheik, ultra-expensive, ultra-thin Bruno Magli. I’ll have you
singing in the upper registers yet, Butch.

Somehow, I didn’t think the waiters were hiding out in the stairwell.
Then again, I hadn’t bought the champagne ploy for an instant. As soon
as the fire door closed behind us, I spun to face him, expecting a
mouthful of fist. Instead, I got a mouthful of… mouth — and tongue. My
arms flailed about ineffectually as I was pinned to the wall.

Oh, no you don’t, you sick sonofabitch! You are NOT gonna have your way
with me, THEN out me to half the city of Chicago! Just lean into me a
little bit more and I will FedEx my reply; absolutely, positively
guaranteed delivery….

He got a handful of tittie, massaging my rapidly-hardening nipple with
thumb and forefinger. That brought everything into soft focus. My
struggles dissipated like so much dust in the wind. My mind was
screeching at this ultimate treachery. What chance did I have to beat
him at this dangerous game when my own body betrayed me?

His other hand was hovering around his crotch, doing… I couldn’t tell
what. Then that hand took my hand and pulled it forward. Oh… my… dear…
sweet… Jesus! Godzilla is right; this guy is a monster! I can’t begin
to explain it; Auto-Pilot kicked in at that exact moment. I sank to my
knees and had him unzipped and exposed — with difficulty — a few
moments later. I actually made him back up half a step so I could face
it properly. I softly encircled it with my right hand and ever-so-
gently stroked its length, all the way to the base. Holding my hand
there, I realized with detached awe my small hand covered little
more than a quarter of its total length!

Don’t even ask what was going through my mind as I inhaled the bulbous,
purplish head. At that point, my thought processes had all the
coherence of a bowl of alphabet soup. That was the only way I could
have gotten that slippery snake down my throat. As I sucked him, one
lucid thought gradually came to the forefront:

There is a just and merciful God, after all!

All I had to do was smile, close my eyes, and take a great, big bite;
Vienna Sausage AND Vienna Boy’s Choir, all in one gulp!

Yeah, right. That was when the next lucid thought hit me. I was about
to maim a hero to tens of thousands of Chicagoans without a shred of
hard evidence (discounting what was in my mouth) of criminal conduct.
Baby, if you don’t think The Media would sniff out my story then…. For
all that certain anguish, I still didn’t have a thing on him other than
my lips and tongue.

God hates me; He really, really does.

The thoughts were coming faster now, on pace with my ministrations to
his cock. Jeff hadn’t given the slightest indication this was his
revenge on me, or even a prelude to it. He hadn’t given any indication
he even knew me. Was he that good an actor? He was treating me like I
was just another of his adoring bimbos. Was it just possible he didn’t
know who I was?

Whether he did or not, Boulder Dam opened its floodgates and dumped a
raging torrent down my spillway. I hadn’t even realized I had been
massaging my own clitty with my other hand. I shuddered through my own
release, barely holding it together as I held him between my lips.
Surely goodness and mercy…. Anticipating either Rob or Angie — or
both — might be in a playful mood that night, I had heeded Dianna’s
long-ago advice and sheathed my clitty in a latex mitten, tucked
discretely back inside my calfskin thong. I could take care of that
little problem later, at my leisure.

We corralled a passing waiter as we strolled arm-in-arm into the main
salon. As we sipped the chilled bubbly, we were immersed in
conversation.

“We really must get together again and finish what we started,” Jeff
intoned in my ear.

“There’s more?” I inquired innocently.

“Oh, yeah, Baby,” he replied, “a lot more. How about next Saturday?”

I shook my head.

“Sorry,” I demurred. “I have a thing planned. I don’t know how long it
will last.”

He nodded disappointedly.

“Actually, I do, too,” he agreed. “Our promotions people have me doing
a publicity appearance at the fag pageant over at the Hilton. I’m gonna
be appearing with some models at a fashion show. I know one of them.
God, I hope the rest aren’t all dogs….”

My face lit up.

“Woof, woof,” I barked playfully.

He gaped at me, astonished.

“You’re kidding,” he gasped. “You?”

I nodded, smiling. Just then, I caught sight of Angie, chatting with a
group on the other side of the room. I extended an exquisitely-
manicured index finger in her direction.

“And my friend there, too,” I purred. “We’re kind of a matched set.”

“Jesus,” he whispered hoarsely. “I think I’ve died and gone to Heaven.
I have some other, more personal business to wrap up there next
weekend. I thought that was gonna be the highlight of my week, month,
and year. Now, with you and your friend there….”

His voice trailed off. He stopped and spun me around.

“We will get together then, right?”

At that instant, I looked over his shoulder and spotted Susan coming up
behind him at full steam. I couldn’t resist. I leaned up and kissed him
softly on the cheek.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I purred.

Susan slipped her arm into his as smoothly as silk. Her smile was
bright, but her eyes were cold as ice.

“Thank you for keeping MY BOYFRIEND company while I was busy,” she
intoned with veiled menace.

I glanced up at his blushing face with a twinkle in my eyes.

“My pleasure,” I smirked, turning to walk away. My hips and tush
undulated as though on rails.

“Will we be seeing you later, Miss…?” she called out behind me.

I looked over my shoulder and winked.

“Lisa,” I giggled. “Lisa Layne. I’m certain you will.”

She was glaring at Jeff with a look that could only mean one thing:
Wait ‘til I get you home.

Angie looked quizzically at the smirk on my lips. Then she glanced over
my shoulder and spotted Susan and Jeff. I thought SHE was going to have
a coronary. She raced to my side, grabbed my arm and led me hurriedly
away, leaning her head close to mine.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” she murmured. “What on earth did
you think you were doing?”

I shrugged my shoulders a little and smiled contentedly.

“Damage assessment,” I chirped. “Either they were very good actors or
didn’t have a clue who I was.”

Angie’s face was right in mine. She was about to give me another piece
of her mind when she stopped — and sniffed my breath. I guess the
champagne didn’t completely mask the odor. She rolled her eyeballs and
shook her head with resignation.

“Now I know you have a death wish,” she moaned, then looked up at me
with a rueful smile on her lips. “Time for some more mouthwash-
thingies. What am I gonna do with you?”

“Anything you wish, Lover,” I whispered in her ear, “but we should
probably wait until later - after this little shindig is over. You know
how people like to talk. By the way, let’s not forget who started me
down the road of living dangerously.”

Susan did see me later that evening. I caught her out of the corner of
my eye, glaring at me from across the room. When a member of the group
I was in shifted to one side and Susan saw I was on Rob’s arm, I
thought her eyes were going to pop out of her skull. She resumed
conversation with various members of her group, glancing in my
direction. A couple of the men smiled and said something or other that
made her flush scarlet. My best guess was, Angie and I had just been
outed for our suspected careers ‘going down in The Valley’. Shortly
after, Susan was dragging Jeff by the arm towards the door.

Later that night, Angie and I ‘starred’ in our own production for two
very appreciative admirers back in Rob’s condo. The sex had only been
better when I was sharing it with Dianna alone. Then again, it was my
attitude that had changed in a major way. I was no longer hunkered down
in a siege mentality. I had made a major breakthrough in understanding
the time and place Jeff would make his move against me. I wasn’t close
to knowing everything, but it was falling into place at last. In fact,
I could actually see where I might have the upper hand for the first
time. Angie’s reaction to my chance meeting with Jeff and Susan had
been a major piece to the puzzle as well. On the one hand, I was
feeling more confident about her. On the other hand….

Forget Sam Spade. Think Sherlock Holmes:

When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter
how improbable, must be the truth.

I didn’t like the thought of that at all.