book tour?
I talked to your publisher. They agree that you should go. They' re already setting up a seminar at the home of a lawyer who published a book with them.
Charlie lay back in bed. The coed was clutching a sheet to her chest and listening intently to the conversation.
All right, when do we leave?
In about two hours.
Charlie smiled at the girl. That gives us enough time to finish what we started, sweet thing.
Turn off the set and let me get back to my business, Charlie told Keys.
The agent shook his head and left the room. Charlie felt under the sheets until he found a hot, soft place between the coed's legs.
I see you haven't cooled down.
The coed rolled over until she was breast-to-breast with Charlie.
Fuck me hard, Charlie, she whispered, and when you' re done, take me with you to Oregon.
What? Charlie said, pulling away a little.
A hand wrapped around his penis.
I' m wasting my time in college. I' m so unhappy here. I want you to teach me the path to inner peace.
Charlie wasn't in the mood for a philosophical discussion. He also didn't want this broad tagging along to Oregon, even if he had been sincere when he praised her sexual abilities to Mickey Keys.
I hear you, sister, but Charlie started, when the soft, rhythmic motion of her hand made him forget what he was going to say.
Please, Charlie, let me come. I' m smart. I can help, and there are other things I can do for you.
Charlie knew he should say no, but the girl ducked beneath the sheets and the touch of her lips banished all knowledge of the English language from his brain.
Chapter 12
D unthorpe was an affluent community on the outskirts of Portland, and Charlie's seminar had been hosted in a Tudor mansion surrounded by several acres of lawn and trees. The mansion was bigger than some he'd been in since he'd become a celebrity and smaller than others. When he was in these penthouses, mansions, and estates, he felt like Alice in Wonderland. He was rich beyond his wildest dreams, but since he'd started holding his seminars he'd met people compared to whom he was a pauper. Where did all this money come from?
There was something else that seemed surreal. Charlie had grown up poor. There were evictions, there were times when there wasn't enough food, and there was violence in his neighborhood and his life. He'd always thought that his problems would be solved if he were rich, but these people were rich and they looked to him for help in finding happiness. He didn't get it.
Charlie was rarely alone during his year and a half in prison or the whirlwind his life had become since regaining his freedom, and he'd come to treasure the rare moments of peace and quiet he was able to salvage from his hectic existence. As soon as he finished signing copies of his book, Charlie slipped through the French windows in the library to get a breath of fresh air. There was a flower garden on the far side of the spacious lawn. Charlie wandered across the manicured grass in its direction. Delmar Epps, a muscular ex-heavyweight boxer Mickey Keys had hired, followed far enough behind to give Charlie the illusion of privacy and close enough to fulfill his duties as a bodyguard.
Everything had gone as Mickey had predicted. The authorities had refused to let Charlie be involved in the negotiations with the prisoners, so he shared none of the blame when two guards and several inmates died in a bloody shoot-out. Charlie was able to go on television and pontificate about the way things might have ended if he had been allowed to bring inner peace to the rebellious souls of the prisoners. As a result of the publicity, Charlie had packed the convention center for a citywide seminar that had brought in a tidy sum. They had also done well in Dunthorpe at this second seminar aimed at a more select audience.
After initially bitching and moaning about having to fly to the boonies, Charlie had finally conceded that he was glad Mickey had dragged him to Portland. Oregon had been
I talked to your publisher. They agree that you should go. They' re already setting up a seminar at the home of a lawyer who published a book with them.
Charlie lay back in bed. The coed was clutching a sheet to her chest and listening intently to the conversation.
All right, when do we leave?
In about two hours.
Charlie smiled at the girl. That gives us enough time to finish what we started, sweet thing.
Turn off the set and let me get back to my business, Charlie told Keys.
The agent shook his head and left the room. Charlie felt under the sheets until he found a hot, soft place between the coed's legs.
I see you haven't cooled down.
The coed rolled over until she was breast-to-breast with Charlie.
Fuck me hard, Charlie, she whispered, and when you' re done, take me with you to Oregon.
What? Charlie said, pulling away a little.
A hand wrapped around his penis.
I' m wasting my time in college. I' m so unhappy here. I want you to teach me the path to inner peace.
Charlie wasn't in the mood for a philosophical discussion. He also didn't want this broad tagging along to Oregon, even if he had been sincere when he praised her sexual abilities to Mickey Keys.
I hear you, sister, but Charlie started, when the soft, rhythmic motion of her hand made him forget what he was going to say.
Please, Charlie, let me come. I' m smart. I can help, and there are other things I can do for you.
Charlie knew he should say no, but the girl ducked beneath the sheets and the touch of her lips banished all knowledge of the English language from his brain.
Chapter 12
D unthorpe was an affluent community on the outskirts of Portland, and Charlie's seminar had been hosted in a Tudor mansion surrounded by several acres of lawn and trees. The mansion was bigger than some he'd been in since he'd become a celebrity and smaller than others. When he was in these penthouses, mansions, and estates, he felt like Alice in Wonderland. He was rich beyond his wildest dreams, but since he'd started holding his seminars he'd met people compared to whom he was a pauper. Where did all this money come from?
There was something else that seemed surreal. Charlie had grown up poor. There were evictions, there were times when there wasn't enough food, and there was violence in his neighborhood and his life. He'd always thought that his problems would be solved if he were rich, but these people were rich and they looked to him for help in finding happiness. He didn't get it.
Charlie was rarely alone during his year and a half in prison or the whirlwind his life had become since regaining his freedom, and he'd come to treasure the rare moments of peace and quiet he was able to salvage from his hectic existence. As soon as he finished signing copies of his book, Charlie slipped through the French windows in the library to get a breath of fresh air. There was a flower garden on the far side of the spacious lawn. Charlie wandered across the manicured grass in its direction. Delmar Epps, a muscular ex-heavyweight boxer Mickey Keys had hired, followed far enough behind to give Charlie the illusion of privacy and close enough to fulfill his duties as a bodyguard.
Everything had gone as Mickey had predicted. The authorities had refused to let Charlie be involved in the negotiations with the prisoners, so he shared none of the blame when two guards and several inmates died in a bloody shoot-out. Charlie was able to go on television and pontificate about the way things might have ended if he had been allowed to bring inner peace to the rebellious souls of the prisoners. As a result of the publicity, Charlie had packed the convention center for a citywide seminar that had brought in a tidy sum. They had also done well in Dunthorpe at this second seminar aimed at a more select audience.
After initially bitching and moaning about having to fly to the boonies, Charlie had finally conceded that he was glad Mickey had dragged him to Portland. Oregon had been
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