Part 19 (2/2)
”I don't know. We were talking about Esther and what happened that night and I ... I thought it would be fun to write. And then I started writing it, and I couldn't stop.”
”You couldn't stop?”
”I couldn't. It was like some demon had my hand and was racing it all over the paper.” She grabbed her right wrist like a neck and pretended to choke it until it went limp. ”Anyway, sorry. I won't make you read my weird stories anymore.”
”I will read anything you write. You are a better writer than I am.”
”Really? I thought it was kind of stupid.”
”Stupid?”
”Yeah, goofy. Childish. I made hymen jokes.”
”It's satire,” S0ren said.
”Satire? I wasn't going for satire. I just wanted to make the story funny to show how ridiculous it is to choose a country's leader by how good in bed she is.”
”Using humor to hold human foibles-usually of a political nature-up to ridicule is satire, Eleanor. It's a difficult and sophisticated form of humor that very few adult authors have mastered.”
”Oh,” she said. ”Cool.”
”If you're not careful, I'll put you to work on my dissertation.”
Eleanor blushed. S0ren didn't seem to be joking.
”Don't you think I'd give those old priests who read your dissertation heart attacks?”
”You nearly gave me one,” he said. He stared down at her story and shook his head. She felt inordinately proud of herself. One little short story and she'd gotten to S0ren with it. She felt something, something she hadn't ever felt before. Powerful. She could put words onto paper and make a grown man think wicked things like how fun it would be to tie a virgin to a bed and f.u.c.k her until dawn. She could get used to this feeling.
”May I keep this?” S0ren asked.
”You want to keep my story?”
”I think I should confiscate it. You're too young to be reading such things.”
”I think you're forgetting something-I wrote it.”
”I'm keeping it,” he said.
”Okay. But you have to give me something in return.”
”What would you like? And please keep your requests above the neck.”
Eleanor sighed in acquiescence. No asking him to bend her over a pew, then. Fine. If she was smart she might get something out of this deal. She'd given him a s.e.xy story she'd written-something private, personal, secret. Secret?
”Tell me a secret,” she said. ”Any secret. Then you can have the story.”
S0ren exhaled heavily.
”Something tells me I'm going to regret telling you this, but it's perhaps for the best that you know.”
”Know what?”
”I have a friend,” S0ren said at last.
”A friend? That's the big secret?”
”You didn't ask for a big secret. Only a secret.”
”Why is your friend a secret?”
”That's a secret.”
Eleanor opened her mouth and then promptly shut it.
”Here,” S0ren said. ”I've been intending to do this for some time now.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver case. He opened the case and extracted a business card. Black paper. Silver ink. He held out the card and she reached for it. S0ren pulled the card two inches out of her reach.
”Before I give you this card, you must make me a promise,” he said. ”You will show it to no one. You will keep it to yourself. You will not call the number on the card. You will never go to that address except in the direst of emergencies. And by direst I'm referring to such events one would describe as apocalyptic. You can make this promise?”
”I promise,” she said.
S0ren stared at her another moment and then let her have the card.
”I'm trading you a King for a king,” S0ren said, holding up her story.
Eleanor read the card.
Kingsley Edge, Edge Enterprises, it read. 152 Riverside Drive.
The card contained no other information but a phone number.
”Kingsley Edge. He lives on Riverside Drive? That's where all the rich people live, right?”
S0ren inclined his head.
”Kingsley is not without means.”
”So he's rich?”
”Filthy,” S0ren said.
”Does he own a Rolls-Royce?”
”Two of them.”
Eleanor pondered that. So now she knew whose Rolls that S0ren had driven off in that night.
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