End of a Promising Career

"I'll go anywhere for a story and go to any lengths to get it, chief."

"I know that, Janet but a billionaire's pleasure fortress is not a place I want to send you alone."

"I'm a big girl chief. This will give me the "in" to blow the lid off that den of iniquity!"

"You'll be out of the reach of the "Daily Record's" resources if anything goes wrong."

"My alias is iron-clad, I'll be in and out with the next shipment of bimbos, only Sylvester won't be able to buy my silence!"

"Your face is rather well-known, Janet."

"I've got green contact lenses and I'm going in for a very expensive dye job and total body wax as soon as I punch out."

"I'd feel better if you at least told Jefferson what you are up to."

"What difference would that make? He'd be just like you, cautioning me against it. Besides, he's on that hush-hush assignment of his own in Shanghai. I should be back before he even files his story!"

"Very, well, Janet, since you know what you are doing, all I will say is good luck and be careful!"

"I will, chief. Now, if you could just initial this expense voucher for me."

"Good God, Janet! You're supposed to be investigating a billionaire, not living like one!"

"In the grand scheme of things, it's not that much, Mr. Willis. Besides you'll make it back in the first edition with an "Exclusive" heading and my byline."

"You only call me, "Mr. Willis," when you are buttering me up!"

"Whatever works, handsome! Now, put your initials or the line."

"You're despicable, Janet!"

"That's what makes me such a great reporter, stud!"

The grizzled city editor sighed and initialed the expense voucher.

"Confound it, Janet, if you weren't the best reported I've ever hired, I'd have you over my knee administering some sense into you."

"Promises, promises, chief!"

With that, the beautiful raven-haired reporter winked at her boss and sashayed out of his office. After instructing Jimmy Meeks to water her plants and make sure that no one messed with her computer while she was gone, Janet was into the elevator and out into the chilly November air of Chicago. As she pulled her coat tight around the lower part of the face, she said to no one in particular, "At least Sylvester's little island of sin is in a balmy climate!"

She continued a way until she reached an expensive spa with a French name or the door and a stellar reputation among the chic set. She caught her reflection in the glass as she opened the door and mentally bid a sad farewell to her raven tresses.

Several hours later a shapely green-eyed, platinum blonde exited the spa. Janet doubted that either her sister Lucy or mother would be able to recognize her without a very careful and intense second look. In addition to the titian locks, Janet Parks sported a chemically generated all over tan that would last for weeks. Janet tested out her California "wide jaw" accent or the women at the spa. All of them were convinced she was a native of the Golden state, a regular surfer girl off to return to the sunshine after striking out as a model in Chicago.

Janet made her way home via the elevated rail. Though used to attracting male attention, Janet was both floored and delighted by the male gaze she attracted in her Harlow guise. A familiar male rider, who was usually rude to Janet, actually offered up his seat when she entered the subway car! Janet allowed her skirt to ride up, exposing a nice bit of leg and winked at him. The man flushed. He certainly didn't recognize her! Janet felt certain her disguise was completely impenetrable. She returned to the apartment she shared with Jefferson Addams. She left her fiancé a vague note in the odd chance that his story in China wrapped up early, and packed the expensive and revealing clothing she had purchased in a set of designer bags, "Why is it, you have to spend a ton of money to attain that certain not too classy not too trampy look that makes men go absolutely gaga?" she asked the empty room.

After carefully packing, Janet turned in early. She had to be at Chicago international Airport to catch the private plane that would transport her and a dozen or so other women to Blaine Sylvester's private Caribbean island at six A.M. sharp. That night she dreamed of Jefferson, causing her to awake suddenly. Yes, she fretted in the darkness, he would probably have to do a lot of things on this assignment that would make him very unhappy, but she had to get this story by any means necessary, that was what reporters did. She was sure that Jefferson would forgive her, especially after she atoned with sex that would curl his hair. There would probably be no men even half as handsome as Jefferson on the island. Janet would have to call or all her acting talents to get through the next two weeks. While still thinking of Jefferson, Janet removed the vibrator from her nightstand. After getting herself off most satisfactorily, she returned to a deep and dreamless slumber.

She dragged herself out of bed when the alarm went off at four thirty A.M. Janet was used to being an early riser, still this was a bit much. After a quick yet invigorating shower, Janet dried herself off and stepped into underthings that were so lacy and insubstantial yet so inordinately expensive, that Janet wondered if the manufacturer charged a dollar for each opening in the lace! Janet slid or the slightly sturdier bra and contemplated herself in the mirror. "These feel and look so good, they should be illegal!" she exclaimed. Next, she slid on the nylons and clipped them to the garter belt. Finally, Janet pulled on the blue miniskirt and the clingy yellow blouse and punishing blue heels. On with the expensive coat and she gathered up her bags stepped out into the deserted hallway, into the elevator and out to the curb. Taxis ALWAYS stopped for ladies that looked like the one that Janet was currently impersonating. The cabdriver had to force himself from staring only in the rearview mirror. The woman in his backseat was gorgeous. Her legs, just peeking out of her leather coat were beyond enchanting, it was very easy and quite pleasant to imagine what the rest of her looked like. He had her pegged as some millionaire's trophy wife or girlfriend. A kept and petted pet, to whom guys like him had the appeal of a cockroach. "Wealth is wasted or the one-percenters!" he sighed under his breath. Even with taking the driver's distracted driving into account, Janet made it to the airport with plenty of time to spare.

Janet's phony passport, which would have passed even the most rigorous inspection, identified her as Iona McCourt, resident of Ojai, California, twenty-five years old, blonde hair, green eyes, five-feet-six-inches tall, weight 110 pounds. "Most of it was even true," thought Janet as she batted her falsely tinted eyes at the handsome security guard. She'd turned the charm or since hailing the cab and she knew that "Iona" could not afford to turn it off until she was safely in Chicago once more.

"Enjoy your flight, Ms. McCourt," said the security officer at last. Iona winked at him and sashayed her way up the ramp an into the private airliner.

"Boy is this place swanky!" said Janet as she examined an interior worthy of Air Force One. She hastily reminded herself that that was how Sylvester hooked so many young women, impressed them with his wealth and power all the while collecting dirt and blackmail material on them to purchase their silence in perpetuity. The few girls who wanted to speak out either held back for fear of the safety of their loved ones or simply disappeared. Behind it all was the dashing and mysterious Blane Sylvester, source of wealth not entirely known. That his private island was the destination of politicians, judges, entertainers, and the powerful on both sides of the Atlantic was known. What all those powerful people did while under Sylvester's watch was a complete mystery, but with all the pretty and willing (and supposedly not so willing) girls he imported, it did not take much imagination to guess what sorts of debauchery the rule makers and socially prominent were up to. Soon, Janet would know too. Shortly after that the Daily Record would inform the world and Sylvester would face the music. Janet could just taste that Pulitzer Prize!

Janet sized up the girls sharing the plane with her. They were all ethnicities, but they all shared the same incredibly good looks. Some of them shot her the stink eye and subtly stood straighter thereby thrusting their breasts forward. It was high school all over again with all the cattiness and scheming to snag the starting quarterback as the date for the prom. As if on cue, Sylvester took that moment to enter the plane,

"Good evening, girls!" he stated enthusiastically, "Who wants to have fun?"

"WE DO!" exclaimed Janet with the rest of them.

As he walked by Janet, Blane winked at her. Janet was surprised, she knew how attractive Blane Sylvester was, but she was unprepared for his dynamic personal charisma. No wonder he could overwhelm naïve girls with his personality! He walked the length of the plane eyeing each woman equally before making his way back to the rear of the plane. He stood next to Janet who offered her hand which Sylvester gallantly kissed. "Iona, McCourt, Mr. Sylvester."

"Call me, Blaine, beautiful. Iona? Is that Irish?"

"It was until my great-grandmother and grandfather arrived at Ellis Island. I'm told I share my great-grandmother's looks; in any case, I'm named after her."

"She must have been a true beauty as well, Iona. I hope you like sun, sand, and fun."

"I grew up at the beach, Blane," returned Janet.

"No doubt breaking the hearts of every surfer dude in southern California."

Janet giggled in response.

Sylvester's eyes toured Janet's anatomy. "I'll bet you look great in a bikini, Iona!"

"Oh, Blane!" responded Janet like some flattered bimbo.

He kissed the back of her hand a second time and moved on. Janet decided that her readers did not need to know that ever so corrupt Blane Sylvester has a really, really, sexy butt!

Janet turned to surreptitiously interviewing the other women on the flight. What she found did not surprise her. Most of the young women came from broken homes or had daddy issues combined with a hunger for wealth and security. Such neediness made them easy for Sylvester to groom and lure with promises of big money for a bit of sleaze in the sun. None of them were ignorant as to what would probably be expected of them in the Caribbean, but they felt that selling themselves for a financial windfall was the best offer they were going to get. A number of them had clearly exchanged their bodies for cash in their pasts but were quite circumspect about it.

Sylvester was quite exacting about the women he invited to his private island. Janet had had to provide documentation that she was free of venereal diseases and on birth control. Fortunately, because of her connections, Janet did not have to undergo the same grueling physicals as her plane mates. "Thank Hera for the power of the media," she thought. Janet's main point of focus was not these women with stars in their eyes but upon the men and women she would meet at the end of the journey. She wondered just haw far she would go to obtain this exclusive. Nudity was a sure bet. Sex? A strong possibility, but Janet thought she could avoid actually doing the horizontal mambo with Sylvester's A-list clients. Would the actors, senators, and ex-presidents be content with just a hand job and a sensual massage? The "Daily Planet's" ace reporter, certainly hoped so. If not, she would leave her readers, Jefferson, and, Martin White in the dark. Jefferson Addams was the most loving and forgiving man she had ever met, but even he might draw the line if Janet had to get really down and dirty. As for Martin White? She could just hear him recriminating himself for allowing Janet to talk her into this story. After, no doubt, nearly suffering a stroke, he damn well would never give her such liberty again!

Janet hailed the mini skirted stewardess and removed a gin and tonic from her tray. A little liquid encouragement could make a mouse into a lion or a wallflower into an exhibitionist she reasoned. Not that Janet was a shrinking violet; far from it. She was a twenty-first century women in all respects, but the idea of hot passionate sex with total strangers was not in her personal definition of either feminism or character. Blane Sylvester made another circuit of the plane. Janet noted that he subtly focused on her bust and legs. "At least he mentally undresses a woman with class," she thought before engaging him in bubble-headed small talk. Airhead was a role Janet slid into easily. A bit of vamping and simple-mindedness could disarm even the most crusty and wary chauvinist. She was so adept at the skill that none of the men ever realized just how much they had revealed about themselves and the secrets they were sworn to keep. Janet was quite adept at using a short, tight skirt and a clingy blouse as interviewer assistants. Blane was cagier than most of the men Janet had used her charms or in the past. But then again, he had to be quite adept at masking his true motivations and his ruthlessness regarding women or he would never have lasted so long in the A-list procurement business. After a quarter hour of Janet's best efforts, Blane Sylvester had yielded exactly nothing. "Maybe this assignment won't be as easy as I first imagined," thought Janet as Blane strode away to talk up a vivacious South Korean woman with an impeccable accent.

A surprisingly short time later, the plane landed. Blane stood at the front, "Ladies, your luggage will be taken care of. I'll ask all of you to find a seat in my van, brunch is waiting at my compound. Then, you will be shown to your rooms to prepare for our pool party. The event is clothing optional for those of you that feel daring."

There wasn't much grumbling as Blane stepped aside and a tropical floral breeze flowed into the passenger cabin of the jet. "So, it begins," said Janet softly. Truth be told, she was starving and was looking forward to the brunch. She'd had time for nothing more than a bagel and coffee in the morning and there had been little in the way of food during the relatively short flight. She'd wear her new French bikini to the pool.

All of the women in the van were in fine spirits as it drove through amazing alternating vistas of tropical foliage and sparkling surf. At last they came to imposing iron gates which swung open automatically revealing a carefully tended Shangri la. Palms and landscape sloped away from the imposing yet beautiful dazzling white house or the hill. In the distance was Blane Sylvester's private golf course and his personal grove of orange trees. Janet could see how all of this could turn a young inexperienced woman's head. She, or the other hand, had been to palaces in Europe and the Middle east and had dined in the presence of more than one president at the White House. Even so, she was impressed by the surroundings.

Once the van came to a stop, Janet and the other women were led by smartly dressed hostesses to a plush dining room. Calligraphed place cards instructed each woman where to sit. Janet, as Iona McCourt, found herself between a freckled strawberry blonde, who was clearly fresh off the farm and a beguiling blue-eyed brunette who had to be at least thirty-five. "Our man likes variety," said Janet facetiously to the older woman.

"Harrumph," returned the brunette, "At least I'm not some silicone enhanced, Botoxed, phony blonde!"

"Ouch!" replied Janet and was about to give a more detailed reply when the food arrived. Oh, was the food marvelous! Tropical and French delights all washed down with rare wines and champagnes! Janet was quickly seeing why so many wronged women were silent in front of press and legal inquiries. Ordinary women didn't live like this and when they did, they were grateful. One hostess confided in Janet's ear that she had begun her career with Blane Sylvester as a fresh-faced girl fresh off the same plane that delivered the undercover reporter. "The benefits are out of this world!" she enthused, followed by, "Blane likes to promote from within, you are just his type."

Janet thanked the woman and returned to her meal. Her research had led her to conclude that this island would be crawling with women who wanted to confess what went or behind the closed doors of this oasis of sin, but now, that seemed not the case. Janet decided that the hostess was an outlier. She would have to go deeper for the truth. The spectacular brunch concluded, Janet and the others were led to their incredibly luxurious rooms, where they discovered that their baggage had preceded them. All were given instructions on how to reach the pool and ordered to rendezvous there in fifteen minutes. Janet took a deep breath and opened her Janet Viton suitcase. Shortly thereafter, she stood in the skimpy bikini psyching herself up. There was a tremendous amount of her anatomy on display, "If Jefferson saw me in this thing, he'd kill me!" she said to her reflection. But she was the best reporter in Chicago and therefore the best reporter in the world and therefore would go to any lengths to get the story!

A few moments later, she was under the tropical sun encountering the largest swimming pool she had seen. Blane, looking far better than a man of his years had any business looking in a speedo, motioned for the women to join him or the other side of the pool.

"Ladies, I invited you here, not only to enjoy the tropical sun but also to mingle. May I introduce men and women who need no introductions..." a bell rang, and a stream of mostly nude men and women sauntered out into the sunshine. They tended to be middle-aged or older and were far from any sort of Adonis', but they were all very famous and very, very wealthy. "Ladies, you know what to do!" finished Blane with a smirk. The mob of women surging forward carried Janet along. Fate deposited her next to the chaise lounge occupied by the stark-naked senior senator from Mississippi! To friends and foes alike he was known as "Uncle Jerimiah."

The senator drawled, "Hello, gorgeous!"

"Hello, yourself!" fired back Janet turning or the charm.

"What would be the name of such an enchanting creature?"

"I'm called, Iona, sir."

"It's Jerimiah, little rosebud, you can call me "Uncle"."

Janet giggled and the senator hailed a passing waiter. "Boy, shake a leg and fetch me a large Whiskey, domestic, of course and get this photogenic filly anything she fancies."

"I'll have a screwdriver, stud," vamped Janet.

"Where are you from Iona?"

"I'm a California girl, Uncle."

"You have me "California Dreaming" already, darling."

Janet laughed at the lecherous joke as their drinks arrived. Naked the senior senator was hardly an appealing sight. Paunchy, with bad skin adorned with liver spots, his stubby manhood rose to its full most unimpressive height as he spoke to Janet who successfully managed to retain her lunch.

"You know, Ms. Iona, you could burn under this sun real easy. I happen to have some sun block with me..."

"Oh, would you?" asked Janet enthusiastically as she turned her back to the senator.

Janet closed her eyes and imagined that the hands roving over her flesh were those of her fiancé, Jefferson. "When this assignment is over, I am going to owe that man SO much apology sex!" she allowed herself to muse.

"You know, darlin' as lovely as that bikini is, it prevents me reaching all of you."

While Janet groaned inwardly, she giggled merrily and reached for the knot on her bikini. She then tugged it the rest of the way off.

"Christ almighty!" gasped the senator as Janet turned to face him. He happily palpitated the ample and attractive bosoms in his palms.