bargain was their secret; had it been known, the lewd nicknames attached to their benefactions would probably have been legion.
In fact, Harry's demise, at age 77, had come as Sue performed another of her dollars-for-the-arts fellations on him, though newspaper accounts noted only that he had died "peacefully at home" of a heart attack.
Sue came into her own after Harry's death. With a fortuneâher own fortune nowâto supervise, she commanded a small regiment of lawyers and accountants and investment advisers. Not to mention the persistent grant proposers, development officers and smooth leaders of not-for-profits, all now more smarmy than ever.
The widow Brandberg enjoyed the attention; it suited the temperament and instincts of a former (if minor) beauty pageant queen. Being lady bountiful to her favorite charities pleased her immensely. Most aspects of her existence were a constant reminder that she really had left the reservation.
But there was a hollow center. She had no really close friends, at least friends who did not want something from her. Thus it was that she had bought a dog from a small community of monks in upper Westchester who raised purebred Staffordshire bull terriers. They were not considered city dogs, but she liked their looks, and none had been more appealing than the puppy she called Wambli, with a "cute" white stripe running down his chest. In private amusement she had chosen the name, the Lakota Sioux word for "eagle," though she only shrugged and smiled when others asked her what "Wambli" meant.
After the dog equivalent of a Harvard educationâobedience school for learning "appropriate behaviors," pet-facilitated therapy for herself (she had never owned an animal) and several sessions of canine psychology for Wambliâshe had set him up, intact, in the 62nd Street town house.
Wambli had partially filled the void. But there was one other notable blank spot. Sex. She had always physically enjoyed it and, with her exotic looks, never had trouble finding it. But after her years of obligatory ruttings with dirty-minded Harry, she desired something more exuberant and vigorous, preferably with a lover who was young and handsome. And insatiable.
The adventurers looking to be kept turned her off; they tried too hard at pleasing her. Then, of course, there was the stable of "walkers" she maintainedâtrustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind and irreverent. And not the least interested in heterosexual sex.
Then Genc had providentially come along. Tall and angular, and now beefed up after the sessions at the gym Sue had insisted on, he was a thing of beauty. Life was now much improved. Wambli and Genc brought her fulfillment, the only shadow over the happy picture being Genc's vulnerable illegal status, though she was sure her cadre of lawyers was taking care of that. At least she had made it clear to them that her continued patronage depended on their success in procuring a green card for her lover.
She looked over at her muscled captive now, peacefully at rest. Soon contentment gave way to more restless stirrings and she wished he would wake, erect as he always was in the morning, and excitedly scream, OOOH! SHPIRT! as he invariably did as he came to orgasm. (She had never dared ask him what this Albanian phrase meant, fearful that it might refer to his mother or a past lover, or mean "whore" or something equally disconcerting. Not knowing, it only served to excite her in ways that Harry's squeals had never done.)
Yes, why doesn't he wake up? (She had put out of her mind his temporary impotence.) They could have sex and then a satisfying breakfast with Wambli at their feet.
SIX
T he mayor of the city of New York woke up confronting the cumulative pain of a massive headache and a painful leg. The pounding in his head he understood, but what was the throbbing below? He looked down and saw the bandage his wife had applied and gingerly felt it, sending sharp pains up
In fact, Harry's demise, at age 77, had come as Sue performed another of her dollars-for-the-arts fellations on him, though newspaper accounts noted only that he had died "peacefully at home" of a heart attack.
Sue came into her own after Harry's death. With a fortuneâher own fortune nowâto supervise, she commanded a small regiment of lawyers and accountants and investment advisers. Not to mention the persistent grant proposers, development officers and smooth leaders of not-for-profits, all now more smarmy than ever.
The widow Brandberg enjoyed the attention; it suited the temperament and instincts of a former (if minor) beauty pageant queen. Being lady bountiful to her favorite charities pleased her immensely. Most aspects of her existence were a constant reminder that she really had left the reservation.
But there was a hollow center. She had no really close friends, at least friends who did not want something from her. Thus it was that she had bought a dog from a small community of monks in upper Westchester who raised purebred Staffordshire bull terriers. They were not considered city dogs, but she liked their looks, and none had been more appealing than the puppy she called Wambli, with a "cute" white stripe running down his chest. In private amusement she had chosen the name, the Lakota Sioux word for "eagle," though she only shrugged and smiled when others asked her what "Wambli" meant.
After the dog equivalent of a Harvard educationâobedience school for learning "appropriate behaviors," pet-facilitated therapy for herself (she had never owned an animal) and several sessions of canine psychology for Wambliâshe had set him up, intact, in the 62nd Street town house.
Wambli had partially filled the void. But there was one other notable blank spot. Sex. She had always physically enjoyed it and, with her exotic looks, never had trouble finding it. But after her years of obligatory ruttings with dirty-minded Harry, she desired something more exuberant and vigorous, preferably with a lover who was young and handsome. And insatiable.
The adventurers looking to be kept turned her off; they tried too hard at pleasing her. Then, of course, there was the stable of "walkers" she maintainedâtrustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind and irreverent. And not the least interested in heterosexual sex.
Then Genc had providentially come along. Tall and angular, and now beefed up after the sessions at the gym Sue had insisted on, he was a thing of beauty. Life was now much improved. Wambli and Genc brought her fulfillment, the only shadow over the happy picture being Genc's vulnerable illegal status, though she was sure her cadre of lawyers was taking care of that. At least she had made it clear to them that her continued patronage depended on their success in procuring a green card for her lover.
She looked over at her muscled captive now, peacefully at rest. Soon contentment gave way to more restless stirrings and she wished he would wake, erect as he always was in the morning, and excitedly scream, OOOH! SHPIRT! as he invariably did as he came to orgasm. (She had never dared ask him what this Albanian phrase meant, fearful that it might refer to his mother or a past lover, or mean "whore" or something equally disconcerting. Not knowing, it only served to excite her in ways that Harry's squeals had never done.)
Yes, why doesn't he wake up? (She had put out of her mind his temporary impotence.) They could have sex and then a satisfying breakfast with Wambli at their feet.
SIX
T he mayor of the city of New York woke up confronting the cumulative pain of a massive headache and a painful leg. The pounding in his head he understood, but what was the throbbing below? He looked down and saw the bandage his wife had applied and gingerly felt it, sending sharp pains up
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