"You know Flip, I think you're telling the truth. We've often debated about this. I've always thought you knew but were just playing along."
"Knew what? Debated with whom?"
"With Stacey, Liz, and the others. Think for a moment. How many of your ladies would you describe as professional career women?"
Flip thought for a moment, then frowned. "Why all of them, I guess. But that's the kind I like. They have brains as well as beauty."
"Thanks, Flip. I'll pass that along. How many of them seem totally dedicated to their careers, as I am?"
"Same answer -- all of them."
"You still don't get it, do you?" Rachael poured them both more champagne. "We're all hard-driving business women trying to claw our way to the top of our particular profession. But we are still women, and we have certain needs, just like men do. But who has time to go out and find someone to have a relationship with? And if we could find the time to find one, it would then take too much time and energy to maintain it. What's a woman to do?"
"You're kidding," Flip said, a sick look spreading across his face.
"Don't look so hurt, my dear. It was an informal arrangement at first. I'm not even sure who started it. I think maybe it was Bridgette. Do you recall who the first one was?" Rachael asked nonchalantly.
"No," Flip responded in a dazed manner.
"Well, no matter. Let's just say it was Bridgette. Whoever it was, was very impressed with you. So she told her best friend. Let's say that was Stacy, who then made it a point to run into you at cocktail party or mixer. You know, you're quite the social butterfly. Later, Stacy was on a business trip to Chicago and met Liz. After a couple of drinks, Liz complained to Stacy that her needs weren't being met, and so Stacy told her about you. Before anyone knew it, the Harem was born.
Rachael downed her champagne and emptied the second bottle into her glass, turning the bottleneck first into the ice bucket. "Dead soldier, number two. I have another bottle in the fridge, I think."
Flip finally shook himself from his bewildered state. "So, all this time you all have been using me to satisfy your sexual desires? That's all?"
"Flip, don't take it so hard. My God, you've never complained. It's worked beautifully for everyone. How many other guys in this world have seven or eight lovely, intelligent women all around the country that are interested in one thing and only one thing -- sex? You've had it pretty good, I'd say."
"But I loved you."
"Ahh, that's sweet. We love you too, sugar -- in our own way." Rachael reached over and pulled him to her breasts. "Now come here, and let me show you how much."
At first, Flip resisted Rachael's advance, but as she continued to rub against him, he could feel the heat rising from within. Then the heat turned to passion and the passion to anger. She wanted sexual fulfillment, did she? Then so be it. He threw himself into the lovemaking with more intensity than ever before with Rachael responding in kind. They became more and more physical, rolling from side to side on the rug, clawing at each other's bodies. As Rachael reached her climax, she screamed to the top of her lungs. It reminded Flip of a wild beast crying in pain. Seconds later, he too came, his semen bursting forth -- his seeds diving deep within her.
Flip gripped two handfuls of red hair and arched his back in a spasm of passion. Rachael loved it. Flip felt sick to his stomach. As he lay on top of her, catching his breath, it suddenly dawned on him why none of his ladies ever asked him to use a condom. Suddenly, it all seemed to make sense. They were relatively safe from venereal disease despite their lover's apparent promiscuity. On top of which he was always forthcoming about the vasectomy he'd had years earlier. They all knew each other and knew the overall health of the circle. It was a deviously sound plan that could only have been created by a group of smart business women. Flip fought hard to keep from gagging. Rachael moaned softly under him.
Denise turned fitfully in her bed, fighting to stay asleep despite the moans that fought equally as hard to awaken her. It wasn't until she awoke that she realized the moans were her own and that she was about to be sick.
She threw the covers off and was surprised at how damp and clammy they were. She rushed to the bathroom and hung her head over the commode just in time. The sensation reminded her of the terrible bouts of morning sickness she had experienced years ago. She'd been married at the time, and they were expecting her first child.
This can't be the same, she thought. My miscarriage saw to that. I can't have children, remember. I'm sterile, and one of the few good things about that is that I don't have to worry about morning sickness ever again.
So what in the hell is this, she wondered as she hung her head and threw up a second time.
Harem
It was close to six a.m. when Flip finally gave up trying to sleep. It had been one of those tossing, turning nights, unusual for him. He usually slept like a baby in his mother's arms after a night of sex with Rachael. He turned towards her and contemplated waking her up for one last roll, but the thought only brought the queasy feeling back. He was amazed at how well she slept despite his sloshing around on the waterbed. He slid out of the bed and picked up his clothes from the chair where he had left them.
He tiptoed out to the living room, dug his shoes out from under the sofa and called the limo service. No reason to bother waking Rachael. He had nothing to say to her -- nothing that wouldn't result in a terrible scene. Why bother? It was over. That much he knew. He put the same clothes on as he had worn the night before. He'd shower and change when he got to wherever he was going. He strolled over to the window and gazed out. He was still staring out the window when the limo pulled up. He waved to the chauffeur and picked up his bags. At the door, he stopped for a moment and looked around. No, he'd forgotten nothing. It was clear to him that there was nothing here that he would miss -- absolutely nothing.
The streets of Atlanta sparkled with the glaze of an early morning shower. Flip hardly noticed as he tossed the bags into the trunk and climbed into the limo. He stared out the window, seeing nothing. It all made sense once he stopped to consider it. Everything Rachael had said made perfect sense. His ego had done a marvelous job of masking the obvious. There were one or two women that he had met that he couldn't trace back to The Harem, but none of them were more than the occasional fling that always occurred in a single man's lifestyle. Were all his regulars part of the Harem -- all those lovely ladies that had meant so much to him? Okay, maybe they hadn't meant so much, but they had meant something to him -- certainly more than just sex.
Maybe it's only a figment of Rachael's overly active imagination. He had to know. He picked up the cellular phone and dialed the airlines. A too perky voice for 6:30 in the morning answered. When asked what his flight destination was, Flip had to stop a moment and consider the question. It didn't matter where he started.
"What flights are leaving within the next hour?"
"Why quite a few, sir. Perhaps if you could tell me..."
"Better yet, you start listing the cities, and I'll tell you when to stop."
It became Flip's regular method for choosing whom he would visit over the next ten days. He jumped from one corner of the continent to the next -- from Los Angeles to Pittsburgh, to New York, and then on to San Francisco. Often he'd call his next "haremite" from the airport minutes prior to hopping on the plane. Occasionally, he simply took a chance that they'd be available without any notice whatsoever.
With each woman, the routine was the same. He eliminated the customary wining and dining. At the most, he'd stop and pick up a couple bottles of champagne. None of them seemed to mind the lack of flare. He'd bed them within half an hour of his arrival, and then ask enough questions to satisfy himself that they were, indeed, a member of the Harem. None of them seemed to take offense. None of them seemed to care that he knew. None of them seemed to care about anything when it came to Flip MacDougal, except what lived between his legs.
Lionel strolled through the revolving doors of Bio Vita Tech wi
th a bounce to his step generally considered inappropriate for anyone coming to work on a Monday morning. It particularly bugged Denise, who slumped at her desk, tired and weakened from the sickness of the night before.
Lionel stopped a few feet from her, a concerned look on his face. "My God, Denise, I hate to say this but you look like shit."
"Well, considering where I spent most of my night, I'd say that's an appropriate description."
"Are you okay? Can I get you something? Maybe you should go home."
"No, I'll be okay. I'm too much in dutch with Frankie Baby to call in sick. I'll be fine -- really."
Lionel smiled at Denise's nickname for their boss. Dr. Franklin Pruitt would hardly have approved. "Call me if you need anything. I'll check on you later."
Denise nodded and tried to smile. It was a flop.
At the door to his lab, Lionel fumbled with his ID card. He slipped it through the lock and walked in. The spectrophotometer reading lay on the floor where someone had slid it under the door. He had requested a reading on the template over the weekend. As he glanced at the graph, a worried look spread over his face for the second time.
"Damn. I should know better than to request this kind of information over the weekend. It's a hell of a way to start off a Monday." The template had a major contaminate in it; one that may have seriously altered its molecular structure. "Damn -- damn -- damn!"
Flip finished his rampant run through his date book in Chicago. He didn't have any particular reason for finishing there. It had been the luck of the airline schedules. But Chicago worked well since his last two women both lived there. He could kill two birds with one stone. The thought appealed to him. He looked up Ingrid's phone number on his pocket computer. Since she was a model, there was a good chance that she'd be home in the morning when his flight was due to arrive. He'd have to wait until evening to see Liz. She'd never cut her workday short for anything, particularly not for a man. He wasn't sure why he even bothered calling on them. It was clear now that the story of the Harem was true. For some reason, making a final call on each woman appealed to Flip's romantic nature.
A wave of nausea coursed through Flip's body as he finally reached orgasm within Ingrid. He thought for a moment that he would gag while on top of her, but he fought the sensation until it finally passed. He continued to lie on her for a few minutes as the thin layer of perspiration dried, cooling his body.
"My goodness, Flip. You're getting positively violent in your old age."
''I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?" He asked without much concern.
"Oh no. I loved it -- almost animalistic. We should try it again."
Flip didn't respond with his customary glib remark. After a few moments, he turned on his side and then asked, "Ingrid, how did we meet?"
The tall, Nordic blonde did not respond at once but continued to stare at the ceiling as though she hadn't heard the question. Flip was about to ask again when she said, "What a strange question to ask at such a time. Why do you want to know?"
"Just curious."
"I don't know, Flip. I can't recall."
"Come on, Ingrid. You have a great memory."
"Oh, all right. I seem to remember a mutual acquaintance, Marti, introduced us."
"Yeah, I thought so," Flip said. "You know, you might know another friend of mine. Her name is Rachael. I saw her just recently, and she told me an interesting little story." He repeated the conversation, watching Ingrid's reaction closely.
"Interesting," Ingrid said after he finished. "Who told you this?"
"Rachael Phillips. You know her, don't you?"
"Yes," Ingrid confessed after a moment. "But I don't know what she's talking about. It's an absurd idea, really."
Flip stared at her for several moments. She's not much better at lying than she is in bed, he thought. Such a nice body. It's a shame she doesn't know how to enjoy it. He gazed at it one final time, then swung out of bed and started putting on his clothes.
Ingrid had given little resistance to his quick exit. She never had been much for talk. In the lobby of her apartment, Flip stopped and called Liz. As he waited for the phone to start ringing, he realized he had never visited the two women on the same trip. For some reason, it had always seemed inappropriate -- somehow cheap. Now, he couldn't imagine why he had thought that it mattered.
Flip expertly worked his way through the receptionist and Liz's personal secretary, finally getting her on the line. He knew he'd have to keep the conversation short. Liz rarely took personal calls at work. She said it showed a lack of commitment to the job. For that reason, Flip was surprised to hear a warm reception.
"Flip, how are you and, even more important, where are you?"
"I'm in Chicago. I flew in unexpectedly this morning. I know I should have called..."
"God, Flip, it's good to hear your voice. I need you right now."
Although he'd never considered Liz as one of his favorite women, it was good to feel needed. Maybe, just maybe, she wasn't mixed up with the others. After all, Liz was such a hard worker. She hardly had time for anything else. As she often said about herself, ''I'm too busy to have a nervous breakdown."
"I'm awfully busy right now, Flip, but I'm glad you called. Can you be at my place by seven?"
"Sure, Liz. Seven it'll be."
"Great. It's going to be good seeing you again. I've missed you."
Flip hung up the phone, a puzzled expression on his face. Was this the Liz that he knew -- the chain smoker and drinker; the lady who burned the candle at both ends? Something seemed amiss.
At first Lionel wasn't sure if he had heard a knock on the lab door or not. It was that soft. The second time it was slightly louder. He walked over and twisted the latch. A pale and obviously frightened Denise stood on the other side.
"Lionel, I hate to disturb you but..."
"Not at all Denise. Come in. How are you feeling?" He escorted her into the lab and removed a stack of books from the second lab stool.
"That's what I came to talk to you about," she answered as she plopped onto the seat. "I went to see the doctor yesterday, and he had some incredible news."
Lionel pulled his stool closer. "Is something the matter?" He asked.
"The doctor told me I'm between two and three months pregnant."
Lionel, stunned by the news and by the fact that Denise would share it with him, stumbled to find the right words.
"Well, Denise, I don't know what to say. It's shocking news."
"More than shocking, Lionel. Impossible. I wasn't sleeping with anyone two or three months ago. In fact, other than your friend, Flip, I haven't slept with anyone in the past six months. And I promise that's the truth. I've no reason to be bashful about it."
"Was the doctor sure of the tests?"
"He seemed to be, but I just don't see how it could be. My doctor diagnosed me as sterile years ago after having a miscarriage. The doctors were so sure at the time that when my husband found out, he filed for a divorce. He very much wanted to have children." Tears were beginning to well up in Denise's eyes.
Lionel reached out and stroked her trembling hands. "How can I help?"
"Well, I know your research has something to do with reproduction, and I thought that..." she hesitated, unsure how to continue. "I thought maybe you could repeat the test and see what's happening. I mean, the strange thing is that I feel pregnant. I remember the feeling from the first time. But I can't be, and certainly not that far along. Can you help me?" Her lower lip took up the trembling beat.
"Sure, Denise. It's no problem repeating the tests. We might want to run a few others if the findings are the same. I know this is going to come out wrong, but are you certain that you weren't sleeping with anyone that far back?"
"I'm very certain. I keep a diary every day so just to be sure, I read over it. Not so much as heavy petting. The past several months have been incredibly boring for me, with the exception of Flip. By the way, you haven't heard from him have you?"
"No, I
'm afraid not. Would you like for me to try to find him?"
"Heavens no!" Denise replied too quickly. "If I am pregnant and if it is his child, I'm not the kind of person that would make trouble for him. It was an accident, and I'm prepared to deal with it without making him feel guilty about it."
"If you are pregnant, what will you do?"
Denise studied her hands for several seconds before answering. "I've always wanted a child. I felt terribly cheated when the doctors told me I was sterile. If this means I get a second chance, I'm going to take it."
Liz
Flip stood outside of Liz's apartment, the bottles of champagne cradled in one arm. He studied the empty hallway as he waited. It was typical for this side of Chicago, the decor, quiet and understated, the carpet plush and expensive. He heard Liz on the other side of the door as she released the lock. He turned around and plastered an artificial smile on his face. Liz was the last one on his list; the last woman that could be a part of the Harem. After this, he would wash the entire experience out of his life. As the door started to open, he wondered what would be left to do with his life. There would be quite a gap to fill.
"You're not going to stand out there all evening, are you, while a beautiful woman awaits inside?" Liz asked with a smile and a light laugh.
Flip chuckled without much energy. "Never say that a MacDougal would make a lady wait."
She's a striking woman, Flip thought as he entered the apartment. Liz's dark amber hair cut short in the stylish fashion of a career woman going places, framed her high cheekbones. Simple to maintain, yet provocative, the ad would have read. She wore a black outfit, a cross between a jumpsuit and a hostess dress. It's plunging neckline revealed pale translucent skin as did the deep scooped back. The outfit highlighted her slender figure and long legs.
Kindle Series 3-Book Bundle: A Genetic Engineering Science Fiction Thriller Series Page 4
