In a final flurry, TV cameras dashed around shining harsh lights into the eyes of anyone who wanted to make a statement. Chrissy saw Lou, pad in hand, sidle up to Diana. Was he really interviewing her? They looked too cozy to be serious.
Chrissy watched them momentarily, and then caught sight of Jen and a man making their way toward a side exit. She chased after her.
“Mrs. Elery? Can I ask you some questions? I’m Chrissy Dolan with the Register. I’ll be quick.”
Jen and Ralph paused.
“Just one question,” said Jen. “I really need to get home to my son.”
“Yes. Yes—of course. Was there ever any formal investigation about your daughter’s death? And are you still looking into it?
“I can’t look into it anymore. It was so inconclusive and very frustrating. Quite frankly, I’m not sure who to turn to.” Jen paused, and then said, “Why don’t you investigate it? It would make a good story, don’t you think? Maybe they’d give you some straight answers. I never got any.”
“Oh. That’s a good idea. But were you really trying to implicate the plant in your public statement?”
Jen took a breath, a tactic Diana suggested when speaking to the press about Kaylee’s death.
“I never implicated the plant. I’m just suggesting the water be studied. That’s all I have to say.”
With Ralph close behind her, Jen quickly stepped past Chrissy to the outside and headed to the parking lot.
“Are you telling parents to stay away from the beach?” Chrissy yelled after her, but Jen kept walking.
Back inside the auditorium Chrissy saw a few politicians hamming it up with TV reporters. The more zealous people milled around, hoping to be interviewed. Suddenly Bob was behind her.
“Hello Miss Ace Reporter,” he said in a low voice. She whirled around.
“Bob! Can I get your response to this powwow?”
“Gladly. You are certainly ahead of the game! My statement is exclusive for you—Padera didn’t even spot me, so I’m all yours. Shall we go somewhere less exposed?”
Bob took her elbow and steered her outside to a darkened corner of the parking lot. She could faintly smell his cologne and somehow found it appealing. He turned and faced her, smiling.
“Okay, here’s what you can print. These folks have every right to be scared and ask a ton of questions. But they don’t understand the complexity of nuclear power. That’s why we are planning an educational campaign to clear up any misconceptions about how the plant works. It’s not at all surprising that the anti-nuke folks, like Ms. Chase and her ilk, are cashing in and making a big thing out of this rare, one-time accident. I just wish they wouldn’t spread so many lies.” He smiled. “It that good?”
“What about the pictures of the rupture inside the dome. Who took those?”
“Um, not sure, Chrissy. Could be our busy little whistle-blower, but he won’t be busy for long.”
“When you find him—or her—will you tell me who it is? Give me an exclusive?”
He chuckled. “Maybe. We’ll see. How about grabbing a cup of coffee, or a drink maybe?”
“Oh, gee. I’d love to, but I have to file my story. Rain check?”
“Ouch.”
She turned to a clean page on her pad and looked around for any last interview opportunities.
“By the way,” Bob said. “Any stolen glances between our lovebirds?”
“Not really. If they are involved, they seem to be good at covering it up. I’ll keep my eyes open.”
“Good girl. Why an attractive lady would go for a jock reporter like that…. Well, see you.”
He took off, skirting the unlit perimeter of the parking lot and dissolved into the darkness.
A jock reporter? For a second Chrissy forgot that Lou was primarily a sportswriter. His stories on nuclear power were so well-crafted. She got into her car, a small silvery compact, and jotted down some last minute notes. Just then she saw Lou getting into an SUV that was a metallic, burnt-orange color. That wouldn’t be hard to follow, she half chuckled to herself.
Just as she put the key in the ignition, Diana came whisking out of the building and headed toward Lou’s car, quickly looking around before she got in.
Here we go again, thought Chrissy. Wonder where they’re headed?
Chapter 28
“File your story?” Diana asked Lou as she got into the car.
“Just e-mailing it in now.”
“Did you hear that stupid politician? ALLPower is one of his main campaign contributors. I’m sure Stalinksy made a note of that. Did you see him lurking there in the back?”
“No. No I didn’t.
Does he want to talk about the meeting? About his story?
As Lou pulled out of the parking lot she tried to hide her nervousness about where they were headed. He joked about some kind of “sexual adventure?” Was it at the hotel type of place to which he’d alluded in his writings? She wanted to please him, be a fun mate into adventures and not play the prude. But was she ready for this?
A few weeks ago Lou started another erotic story about a couple who liked group sex, either a threesome or with another couple. Diana held back, confused. What did he really want from her? Did he really imagine her with another man while he looked on? Or he with another woman, while she looked on? Deep down she knew intimacy between two people could never be replaced by recreational sex.
He treaded carefully, and noting her hesitation, he stopped writing the story. He talked about it a bit after they made love, gently pressing his intent, coaxing her into the scenario: What would you want him to do to you? What could both of us do? It can be the ménage à trois of your dreams, Diana. Imagine, enjoy.
He encouraged her to live out her fantasies through words and see how it felt. She still wasn’t keen on the idea, so he didn’t press her and, again, let it slide. Would she write some more of her wonderful horti-erotica? She was flattered, and yes, she would love to do that—that was different, more like poetry. Every few days she sent him a short verse inspired by her few little dabblings in the garden and likened it on some level to their lovemaking; both were passionate and sensuous. He readily responded, praising her for words that moved him.
One night Diana reread Lou’s story about a group-sex encounter at a sex house. Could she write about it and perhaps consent to the experiment? The man was persistent, and she wondered what happened to the sense of adventure she had when she was younger. So why not now? If she agreed, it would be with a man she knew and trusted, someone she was falling in love with. She poured herself a large glass of red wine and started to compose a scenario of a woman with two men. She sent him her first paragraph. It was all he needed. He added on to the story with another paragraph, matching her mood and tone, trying not to be too explicit. Diana reciprocated. The co-authorship became fun.
Meanwhile, Lou did his research. He logged onto the “Bearded Iris” website to search for people looking for provocative sexual encounters, and who would show some sensitivity to novices like Diana.
He searched for couples, single men, single women. A man named David responded, and they exchanged e-mails for a few weeks before they spoke on the phone. They would meet for a drink at the Bearded Iris, giving Lou a chance to get a feel for the man and for the place. If Diana accepted a ménage à trois with two men, perhaps one day she would go for a three-way with Lou and another woman.
Finally, satisfied that David was savvy and could handle the “surprise” rendezvous, they agreed to meet and take it from there. Diana and Lou’s erotic story was about to become reality.