The Reporter p2

Part 2 to come


"Eric, here's someone you can introduce me to," she said, posing that zipper-busting smile at the producer while making sure that he saw her poor broken leg. I have to admit that it was growing on me. When I watched her on her crutches she looked so radiant, so happy.

"Rachelllllll," he beamed. His arms folded around the network reporter.

"Poor dear what happened to you hon?"

"Little moto accident"

"Only you Rachel can look so sexy trapped in plaster like you are"

"I guess you two know one another already," I said.

The Hollywood producer smiled. "Oh, yeah. I've known Rachel for...how many years?" he said while turning back toward the beautiful Blond.

"Who's counting?" she replied, moving slightly to get comfortable on her crutches.

Rachel assumed her reporter persona rather quickly. "How does it feel to have etched your place in presidential history by giving the longest speech of anyone on the platform today?" There was that smile again.

"Hon, you just remember one thing that I said today; that's what history will see: the president has just met his worst nightmare. Mark it down...and watch," he replied.

Almost immediately he was drawn away by a campaign staffer.

"Listen, Eric," she said. "Yesterday I heard some talk about a nightclub singer. Do you know anything about her?"

I glanced around to make sure the cameraman wasn't taping us. "How 'bout us finding a dimly lit bar somewhere, and I'll give you my take on that?"

She glanced at her broken leg.

"I've got to go live in a couple of hours and carrying this cast around all day, would you settle for a bottle of wine being sent up to my room?"

I tried my level best to conceal the excitement I felt, even though I could see the hair on my arms standing at attention.

"Sure," I answered. "But only if you will remember one thing."

"What?" she asked with an inquisitive expression.

"We're in Arkansas. I'm from Arkansas. Born and bred in Arkansas. Mind if we order a six-pack?"

She laughed.

"No problem," she answered with a pretty good Caribbean imitation.

Her room was on the ninth floor and looked out over the River. I walked to the opened drapes.

"If you look real hard, you can almost see where I live over there on the horizon," I said.

Rachel was beside me using only 1 crutch and hopping around the room, handing me a Bud Light.

"I'll be sure to come to the window tonight before I go to bed and say goodnight to you."

The beating of my heart shifted into overdrive. There was a moment of awkward silence before Rachel spoke again.

"Okay, bud...spill your guts!" she said.

We moved to the sofa; I with a beer, her hand cradling a glass of Chardonnay. The beautiful Blond curled onto the sofa after resting her cast on the huge pillow.

Her toes pointed at me. The skirt had pulled about six inches above those marvellous knee and cast, pulling my gaze as well to her long cast. For a few seconds I wondered how she actually felt trapped in that cast. Such an incredible bondage possibility.

I cleared my throat and raised my eyes to hers. "Off the record?" She nodded.

"Back in '88, a state employee reportedly tried to protect himself and get reinstated to his job by threatening to reveal all sorts of sexual affairs."

"And the local press killed the story," Rachel said while rubbing her hand on the top portion of her cast.

"Well, it didn't look like there was a story. You just sort of expect pissed-off people to vent frustrations.

"The singer was just one of the names, and she flatly denied all the charges. Rachel, it never happened. No pictures, no tapes, no depositions." I got another beer.

"Disappointed?" I asked.

Part 3 to come