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."
