Then again, maybe she just wanted to make sure I had enough money coming in to keep hiring out her services, and if so, well so what if that was her primary motivation? In this world, we gotta survive or perish, right?
When it comes to women, I learned long ago to live by the mantra of “no hard feelings.” Women are gifts, and any man who doesn’t understand that, and treat them accordingly, has no place in my universe. I like to think I’m a pretty even keel fella, but a man who puts unkind hands to a woman, makes me capable of most anything in retaliation.
And I mean anything.
I’d say to ask the congressman about that, but he’s dead. Yeah, that’s what most would probably call a not-so-subtle hint.
My father used to beat my mother on a regular basis, leaving her covered in scratches and bruises, all things she dismissed as, you guessed it, just another little “episode”. Even as a young boy I was evolved enough to know those beatings were all kinds of not right, and promised when I was big enough, my mom would never have that happen to her again.
My dad tested that promise.
Once.
After that, as best I know, he never laid a hand on my mother again, and ever since that time, I’ve tried to do my best to protect the women I know as best I can, even if I was a drunken, selfish, self-loathing asshole while I did it.
If that sounds like some kind of contradiction to you, well, that’s ok too.
I’m nothing if not a walking, talking, mess of contradictions. Call it the Irish side of me if you like – or not. Fact is I could give a shit.
2.
Ivanka looked beautiful. She really did. Some guys who walk around with their pants hanging down their ass, their skin full of tats, and a bunch of metal jammed into their ears, or nose, and God knows what else, might see her as being too old. Bullshit. Thing is, I love all women. Old, young, tall, short, blonde, brunette, redhead, it doesn’t matter. Every woman has something about her that’s unique, beautiful, and deserving of appreciation – even the bitchy ones. In fact, a little tip here fellas, sometimes, especially the bitchy ones. Those ladies are just eliminating the weak and uncertain, so man up and get your game on, it might just pay off big time.
So when I sat down inside of Ivanka’s place of business and looked over at her as she positioned herself across her dining room table, I saw nothing less than drop dead gorgeous. She always dressed immaculately in a dress and matching shoes. On this day it was a cream colored number with exposed shoulders. Kind of reminded me of something Grace Kelly wore in that movie she did with Cary Grant called To Catch a Thief. Ivanka’s attire matched well with the interior of the residence, which was just as artful, clean, and impressive as she was.
Classy, hot, and damn sexy.
Ivanka might have been pushing up on sixty, but her body remained a tightly wound weapon inside that dress, and I didn’t see mileage on her face, but rather saw experience. The kind of experience that pays dividends in the bedroom, and that ain’t just talk – that’s a fact. The kind of experience that could even teach a guy like me a thing or three, and I’m not so old yet I don’t love learning something new.
Real men know what I’m talking about. Seems like society today is filled with people pretending to be something they’re not – namely young. I say appreciate the time you have on the odometer, man. Take pride in having more than a little been there and done that in you, right?
“Hello again, Frank. It’s been a while. You look good, lost some weight.”
Ivanka’s softly purring Russian accent lent her voice a touch of the exotic that complimented her high cheek-boned, physical beauty. Her well manicured eyebrows arched above her intelligent dark eyes, as her mouth curled just slightly upward when she looked back at me.
“Yeah, it seems almost dying has been good for my health. Go figure.”
Ivanka allowed herself a quick smile. She couldn’t help but find me amusing, and was comfortable enough to let me know it. That’s another thing I’ve found with women. They like men who know how to make them smile. This world can be a real shitty place, and a man who brings a sense of humor to it, won’t find themselves absent companionship. At least that’s been my experience. Then again with a face like mine, you damn well better have a sense of humor, right?
“So you indicated needing my advice? Or help?”
I nodded back at her, not even trying to put up a front to hide the fact I really did need some help. Besides, my rumpled clothes and scuffed shoes had likely already made that fact more than abundantly clear to her.
“Well, thing is, after the congressman’s death, I’m out of work, and nobody wants to hire me on. Silia thought that maybe you might have some ideas on what I could do to get some cash coming in. I’m willing to work, I just don’t know at what.”
Ivanka sat unmoving. Not even her eyes blinked as she stared back at me. It was a tactic she used often to intimidate others in her presence.
“You’ve been working in Washington D.C. a long time, yes?”
Again I nodded back.
“Yeah, and that might be part of the problem. Seems my, uh, way of life has turned some people off of me. Or they think I’m about to die, or I’m dead already…I don’t know. I’ve tried, but nobody seems to want to give me a shot. The phone’s no longer ringing, you know? And thing is, I’m running low on cash, with no prospects for more to be coming my way.”
Ivanka’s curling at the corners of her mouth smile returned.
“You do enjoy life, don’t you Frank? Why not simply retire altogether? You’re old enough for Social Security, right?”
I knew my face was falling into itself, unable to hide my disgust at Ivanka’s suggestion I join the ranks of the undead. Social Security wasn’t for living off of, at least not for someone of my particular appetites. And besides, I wanted to keep working. I was pretty sure it was helping to keep me alive.
“I want to work Ivanka, not sit around waiting for some little government check to come in. That ain’t for me. I’d sooner curl up and die.”
Ivanka rolled her eyes and waved a dismissive hand at me.
“You men and your penchant for dramatics. Instead of telling me what you don’t want to do, how about you tell me what you do want to do Frank? What are you good at?”
I couldn’t help myself, leaning forward to raise my eyebrows up and down several times.
“I’d love to have the opportunity to show you what I’m good at, Ivanka.”
The Russian madam reverted back to her silent staring, seemingly both not amused and unimpressed at my attempted humor.
“If you can’t be serious, Frank, you’re welcome to leave.”
I apologized, hoping I hadn’t offended her.
“You know many people in Washington D.C., right?”
I nodded.
“These people are both great and small, yes? From congressmen to bartenders, correct?”
Again I nodded, having no idea where Ivanka was taking me. Perhaps she had no idea as well.
“Tell me Frank, when you were running political campaigns, what did you do to find out the more…unsavory details of your opponent?”
That was easy, and I found myself getting excited at having somebody to talk political shop with again.
“We’d hire out for opposition research. There was the political stuff, and the personal stuff. If things got tight, that’s when we broke out the personal file, drop a story with someone we were tight with in the media, and watch the other guy burn up after the smear was released. Is that what you’re asking about?”
Ivanka nodded, her eyes twinkling approval.
“Did your campaign pay well for those research services?”
I paused, my mind travelling back to previous campaigns, doing a quick tally of monies spent on opposition research. The amount was considerable.
“Yeah, I’d say so, usually tens of thousands of dollars every campaign.”
Ivanka looked at me and shrugged, waiting for me to respond to w
hat she assumed I was figuring out. The light on the old porch finally went on inside my head.
“Really? You think I could do that kind of thing? I don’t know…”
Again Ivanka rolled her eyes as she shook her head at me.
“Stop acting like a weak, old man Frank! You have information, you know how to get information, and you know how this political game you spent so many years inside of works. So just do it! Become a, what is it called, a private investigator.”
Part of me was saying no way in hell. I was sixty four years old! No time to start up that line of work! Then again, Ivanka made a good point. I did know a little something on just about everyone who was anyone in Washington D.C., and the things I didn’t know, I knew where to look to find out. And people did pay good money for that kind of information, real good money. My heart was working right, I felt better than I had in years, lost some weight…why the hell not? It sure beat sitting around cooped up in some studio apartment waiting to die.
“Ok, I’ll do it. Not sure exactly how yet, but I’ll do it.”
Ivanka clapped her hands together, her face breaking out into a wide grin. I’m pretty sure it was the first time I’d ever seen her smile like that. She looked ten years younger, and even more beautiful.
“Very good, Frank, we should celebrate.”
I felt the smile on my own face communicating agreement at the suggestion. Celebration? Hey, I’m always game for that.
Ivanka stood up and moved toward the back part of the residence’s first floor.
“Where you going, Ivanka?”
The Russian woman turned to look back at me, the twinkle in her eyes seeming to illuminate the space around her.
“To my room…to celebrate. I assume you’re coming?”
Another crude joke entered my mind, but thank God I kept my mouth shut to avoid sharing it out loud. Instead I simply stood up and quickly followed behind Ivanka.
At that moment, I was simply and fully content that life for old Frank Bennington was about to get GOOD.
3.
I won’t say I made love to Ivanka, because frankly, I think that word is bantered around far too much these days. Love? No, we enjoyed each other’s company, and that is that. It was an hour or so of time well spent, the kind of time I am always grateful for, and look forward to happening again.
I’d wondered what Ivanka would be like in bed since first seeing her some years back. She was every bit as talented a sexual partner as I suspected. So much so in fact, I found myself hoping to give back as good as she gave, making sure to match the slow, easy rhythm of her body that eventually transformed into a more urgent and demanding pace. When we were done, she stretched out on top of her massive, king sized bed and let out a long, satisfied sigh, so I think I did alright there.
You know, if more men spent just a little more time and a lot more consideration making sure they satisfied the women in their lives, this world would be a hell of a lot better place. This slam bam, thank you ma’am thing the younger generation are always going on about, hell, it don’t take much talent to get off. And if that’s all a person is focused on then that’s one pretty useless, selfish son-of-a-bitch now ain’t it?
Women can drive men crazy, and I think a good deal of their motivation for doing so is because they are walking around so damn unsatisfied because of all the men out there who don’t seem to bother with making sure they are doing their part to make a woman feel appreciated, mind, body, and soul. And a lot of that appreciation takes place between the sheets, and anyone who says otherwise is either a damn fool, a damn liar, or both.
So you take all these unsatisfied women, and they start bitching to their men, and those men, well they go run off on a crime spree, or start some war, or invent all kinds of bullshit problems to solve, like global warming and cow farts, all as a means of getting away from that poor, unsatisfied woman in their life!
Why do you think a woman goes vegan? It’s not because she don’t like meat. No, it’s because she’s not getting any real meat. Being with a woman should never be a fast food joint where you stuff up on a bunch of empty calories and then fall asleep as your blood sugar goes haywire. No way man, it’s got to be a multi course meal, spread out slowly, to be fully digested and appreciated.
So fellas, take some time taking your time, know what I mean?
Anyways, back to my time with Ivanka.
Her bedroom was something else. I knew the woman was doing well, but that room was downright palatial. The bed was a huge framed, dark wood monstrosity with posts that reached up and nearly touched the nine foot high ceiling. She had a damn Picasso on the wall above her bed man! A real deal Picasso! Thing was easily worth a couple million by itself. And the attached bathroom was bigger than my entire studio apartment.
It was that bathroom we found ourselves together again after finishing up in the bedroom. Ivanka ran a bath for me in an oversized, polished marble tub and had me slide into its perfumed waters. Then I was the recipient of the best damn massage I’d ever been given, and over the years I’d dropped into more than a few massage joints. That massage was another clue of how appreciative Ivanka was of our just concluded time in the bedroom.
If your woman is giving you regular massages, you’re doing right by her. If you can’t remember the last time her hands worked out the kinks in your neck and shoulders, there’s trouble in paradise, and you haven’t been doing your due diligence in the giving pleasure department. Best get your hard hat on and get to work.
“You really have lost weight Frank. You need to eat more.”
I chuckled. It had been a long time since anybody had told me I needed to eat more, and I have to admit, it felt nice to hear.
“Well, maybe I’ll have to come around here more often so you can feed me.”
Ivanka made no reply as her fingers continued to knead the muscles in my shoulders. I hoped I hadn’t frightened her off at the prospect of my visiting more often. Finally she broke her silence.
“If you become an investigator, you need a new wardrobe Frank. Your clothes don’t fit you anymore, and you need to look the part. The right appearance means more business.”
I leaned my head back and smiled, feeling myself grow sleepy under the influence of the hot bath water and Ivanka’s strong, expert hands.
“You gonna take me shopping?”
I felt Ivanka’s breath against my neck as she bit gently down onto my left ear lobe.
“That’s exactly what I intend to do, Frank, now enjoy your bath. I’ll have some food ready for you when you get out, and we can talk more.”
Talking? Ah, crap. Now that’s the trade off to good sex. You do that right, and for some reason I’ll never quite understand, it makes a woman want to talk to you about anything and everything that comes into her head. I’m not much for talking, but it’s just one of those things you have to nod and smile to, because I don’t care how good you are in the bedroom, if you make a woman feel you’re not listening to her, well, hide the knives buddy, ‘cause she just might feel like cutting you then and there.
See, listening to a woman who’s off on a talking trip is like going to the doctor. No man enjoys going to the doctor, but sometimes you just got to do it, because it’s good for your health, even if it means turning and coughing, or getting a finger stuck up your ass.
Making a woman feel like you care about what she’s saying – same damn thing pally, same damn thing.
4.
True to her word, by the time I made my way to Ivanka’s kitchen, which was just around the corner from her bedroom, she had prepared a plate of bread slices covered in caviar, complimented by a tumbler of scotch and water.
If you’ve never had real Russian caviar washed down with a quality, twelve year single malt scotch, you’re missing out. It’s decadent smooth, and one of those combinations that just makes life worth living.
“Thank you so much, Ivanka. You didn’t have to do this.”
That’s another rule for men to live
by. If a woman makes you a meal, even it it’s just a slice of toast, you damn well better tell her thank you. Anything short of that is plain rude, and I don’t know about you, but I’m sick and tired of all the rude in this so called modern world of today.
People who say things are better today than they were before don’t know shit. Times ain’t better – they’re just different.
“So you really up for some shopping Frank?”
I was amused by Ivanka’s excitement over the prospect of helping to dress me. Women and shopping are like gravity. Don’t try to understand it, just know that it’s always there, and in some weird way a man can never hope to comprehend, it all helps to make the world go ‘round.
Private Detective: BENNINGTON P.I.: A thrilling four-novel political murder mystery private detective series... Page 22
