Kristin

I was wandering nonchalantly along early one sunny Friday afternoon in late February, doing my writer’s thing of watching

people, making mental notes of their characteristics and idiosyncrasies. Writers do this, and often find rich materials to add

to their fiction by using these observations. Actually I was on my way to the local hospital’s pharmacy to pick up a

prescription and knew that the pharmacy was an excellent place to observe unusual characters.

What I had not anticipated was, in my absent-mindedness, almost running into a lovely vision I immediately decided was the

most gorgeous creature on earth. She was tall and willowy, with an exquisite shape that her sweater and slacks showed off

perfectly. Her long blonde hair hung naturally to her shoulders. I could tell from the way she walked, a model’s walk, that she

was well aware of the attention paid her by both men and women, and was proud.

When she passed me I turned to take another look to discover she had also turned, I thought to have a second look at me. I

gave her my best smile and received a smile in return. I discovered then that she had turned back not to look at me, but

because she had missed the entrance to the pharmacy, as I had also. She passed me as I was still gawking, and took

position in the waiting line directly in front of me.

“Always a line,” I commented, in an attempt to get acquainted. “I’m in no hurry,” she replied. “But I agree, there always seems

to be a line here.” “Do you live in the area? I don’t remember seeing you here before.” “I just moved here three weeks ago

from Chicago and have a townhouse on Palmer Avenue.”

“I live on Palmer also. Are you in the Heather Hills Estates by any chance?” Heather Hills is a condominium complex in

Santa Monica, California, not far from Los Angeles.

“Yes, I am. Is that where you live?”

“Yes, I’ve lived there almost two years.” I then got bolder and took the plunge. “If you don’t have any plans for this evening,

may I take you to dinner?”

She considered this for a time and then replied, “Why not, what time would you like to pick me up?”

“How does 7 sound? Would you also like to go dancing? I know where there’s a good dance band.”

“Not tonight, perhaps another time.”

“Okay, I’ll pick you up at 7. By the way, my name is Paul.”

“I’m Kristin Jansen,” she replied.

“Nice to meet you, Kristen.”

“Kristin, with an ‘I’.”

“Kristin, see you at 7.”

“I’m in 320B.”

When I picked Kristin up at 7 she was dressed in a gorgeous dark pant suit that highlighted her skin color and hair to

perfection. The scoop neck blouse underneath the jacket exposed just enough of her breasts to whet my appetite. I drove to

a restaurant known for its romantic setting: subdued lighting with a candle and one solitary red rose at each table. Taped

music played softly in the background. Kristin ordered a chef salad for her entrée while I ordered the house specialty, prime

rib.

While waiting for the dinner to arrive we shared a bottle of wine and opened up a little about ourselves. I began by asking

Kristin if she was a model. “You have the looks and the body to be one, and the way you walk reminds me of a few models

I’ve known.”

“I hope to become a model, but so far I haven’t made the right contacts. From what I’ve been told it’s a tough field to crack.”

“And in the meantime, how do you support yourself?” I asked.

“I’m a book agent for a national distributor. I help set up displays and organize advertising campaigns for newly published

books the distributor wants to push.”

“That’s interesting. Perhaps you have arranged publicity for me along the way,” I replied. “Have you had anything to do with

the ‘Pudge’ books?”

Kristin looked at me in surprise. “Are you Paul Hammond?” When I nodded yes she went on. “I loved those books; I bought

a complete set for my two nephews. This is a complete surprise to me. Wow!”

A brief digression is needed to show what the name ‘Pudge’ has to do with this story.

When I was in my pre-teen years my grandfather, my dad’s father, told me many stories about his boyhood days and the

various mischievous escapades he and his friends were involved in. Of course my parents were concerned that I would try

some of the same shenanigans that Grandpa did, and they were right, I did.

None of the characters in Grandpa’s stories were called Pudge. This nickname was what I was called for about the first

fourteen years of my life as, in those days, I was truly short and roly-poly. Later, when I began writing and used grandpa’s

stories as the basis of my first series of children’s books, I used the name Pudge for my main character. This started me on

what has become a very successful writing career.

While the waiter was serving us I passed this bit of information on to Kristin and then said, “Thank you; I love to hear from

people who have read my books.”

“Are you working on anything now?”

“I’m always working on something. Today I started a love story about a handsome writer who met a beautiful model at a

pharmacy and fell in love with her.”

“Now you’re working on me,” she replied, and smiled fully at me as she spoke.

“Guilty. And, to work on you some more; in addition to your beautiful face and figure, you have one of the most beautiful

smiles I have ever seen.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“I hope so. Now, let’s examine a slight problem you seem to have. You can’t get into modeling because you can’t open the

doors. What you need is an agent; a good agent can make the difference between success and failure. It did with me. I

tried for several years to get published and could have papered my house with rejection slips. Then I got lucky. Someone

introduced me to a first class writer’s agent and she got me published within months.

“I have to meet with my agent next Tuesday. Want to come along and meet her? As I said, she’s a writer’s agent but she has

many contacts with agents in other lines.”

“That sounds great,” Kristin beamed back at me. “Maybe it was destiny meeting you today.”

“Okay. In advance payment how about helping me write the next chapter of my love story? It’s entitled, ‘The Handsome

Writer Takes the Beautiful Model to Dinner and Dancing’.”

“Okay, you’ve convinced me; I’ll let you take me dancing. But only if you get me home at a decent hour. Now slow down the

chapter writing. You’re giving me the impression that you have had a lot of experience writing chapters of love stories.”

“Ah, the lovely lady suspects ulterior motives.”

“In a word, yes.”

“But, love stories are, or should be, on a higher plane than that. Ulterior motives are what you get in pulp romances, or what

some writers call ‘bodice rippers’.”

“Perhaps, but give me some breathing space.”

We talked for such a long time at dinner it was almost 10 o’clock when we arrived at the hotel ballroom for the dancing, which

was already in progress. Kristin proved to be an excellent dancer, which I’m not. I like to dance only because it provides me

the opportunity to hold a woman in my arms. And holding Kristin close was a delightful experience. Her gorgeous body

pressed against mine had my blood surging.

We danced for a little more than an hour before Kristin asked me to take her home. I held her hand for a few minutes at her

door before saying a chaste goodnight.

* * *

Late Tuesday morning we drove to Century City, where my agent Lillian Pressman has her office. Lillian is a vivacious,

unattractive single lady in her forties who has the reputation of being a tenacious bulldog when dealing with editors but has

always been the epitome of graciousness and patience with me. I consider her a good friend as well as a valuable agent.

I introduced Lillian to Kristin and added, “I brought Kristin to meet you because she needs an agent; not a literary agent, she’s

not a writer at present. Kristin is trying to enter the modeling field and I thought you might know someone she could contact,

or better than that, you could introduce her to.”

“Interesting, and what modeling experience have you had, Ms Jansen?”

“None to speak of; I did pose for a boyfriend when I was in college.” Here Kristin looked at me and turned red. I tried hard to

keep a poker face, but I was thinking, “Lucky guy.”

“Well, that’s not in your favor but I’ll ask around and contact Paul when I set something up,” Lillian replied. “Now, for your

business,” she continued, turning to me. “I’ve had two offers for your book, one with less up front money but a better

promotional deal. The other has quite a bit more up front but practically no promotion guaranteed. I think you’re better off in

the long run with the first one.”

Lillian showed me a comparison between the two and I agreed with her assessment. She had the contract in her office for

me to add my signature to.

Kristin and I left the office and had lunch at a small nearby restaurant. While we were eating Kristin seemed to be on a high.

Finally, she calmed down enough to say, “I don’t know how to thank you for introducing me to Lillian. I have a strong feeling

she will come through.”

“I don’t expect any thanks, Kristin. I’m happy for you. I might warn you of something I’m sure you have heard before. There

are a lot of sharks out there. You’ve heard of the casting couch in Hollywood; well, the same kind of couch exists in modeling.

You’re going to be under extreme pressure to put out to land the lucrative contract you want. Be aware, and let your agent do

all the negotiating.”

Kristin reached across the table and put her hand on mine. “Thank you, Paul, for everything.”

“I’m hoping this is only the beginning of the good times we’ll share. I’d like to get to know you better. Beneath that veneer of

a beautiful face and a body men would die for I believe there’s a good human being I could get attached to. Are you

interested in becoming a twosome?”

Kristin tightened her grip on my hand and replied, “I’ve been interested since we first met, otherwise I would have rebuffed

you from your opening line. What was it? ‘Always a line’?”

I laughed at that, “Well, I had to start someplace, didn’t I? Next question: Where would you like to take it from here?”

“Come to my place for dinner and we can discuss what’s next. Okay?” Kristin rose then, leaned across the table and kissed

me flush on the lips. I’m sure I got starry-eyed.

Kristin proved to me that evening that she was not a good cook. But with all her other assets she didn’t need to cook. She

served up a passable spaghetti and apologized for it.

“Honey,” the first time I used a term of endearment with her. “You don’t have to apologize; and you don’t have to cook if

you’re not comfortable with it. There are plenty of good restaurants around.”

While we were eating Kristin said, “Tell me about your book, the one you just signed the contract for.”

“I brought a copy of the manuscript with me that you can read at your leisure. Basically, it’s about a young Croatian boy

whose family is killed and home destroyed during the fighting there, and what happens to him during the ensuing years. Not

that I’m interested in the money, but if it sells as well as Lillian and I hope, I could make a half a million on it.”

“Wow,” she replied.

While I was helping clean up after dinner I said to Kristin, “I have another suggestion for you. When you sign your first contract

insist that, in the trade, you go by your first name only. I think Kristin is a perfect name for a model and the mystique of having

only one name should be an extra.”

“Good idea, maybe I’ll hire you as my manager.”

“Maybe I’ll volunteer to be your manager. I hadn’t asked you before; what kind of modeling jobs do you hope to work at?”

“Fashion, I hope; perhaps swimsuit and lingerie.”

“How about nude?”

“Only if it’s for Playboy.”

By this time our cleaning chores were done. Kristin threw her arms around me and exclaimed, "I feel like I'm flying on a cloud.

I want to make love right now. Do you?”

“I’ve wanted to since I first saw you,” I replied. “Now, I want to share that cloud with you.”

As soon as we entered the bedroom Kristin began removing her clothes. Surprisingly, to me, she seemed embarrassed but

she was on such a high nothing would have stopped her.

Her body was every bit as good as I had fantasized it would be. From the fullness of her breasts down to the perfect curve as

her narrow waist flared out to her hips she was magnificent.

I asked her to pose so I could absorb all of her loveliness. She turned red again but did as I asked.

Our love making was not the sublime passion I had hoped for. I could tell immediately that Kristin had not had much

experience with sex and was either fearful or ignorant about what her role was. I had her follow my lead and spoke gently to

her as I led her to what might have been her first orgasm.

As we lay in each other’s arms afterward I realized that Kristin was crying. I held her close and whispered words of love to

her until the tears finally stopped.

“I hope those were tear of joy,” I said, as I gently caressed her body.

“They were, they were. I never knew sex was like that. The few times I tried before it was like nothing. This time it was

wonderful.”

“That’s because it wasn’t just sex, it was making love,” I said. “If we make love it goes beyond, far beyond having sex.”

“Maybe it was because it was with you,” Kristin replied.

“I hope it was because it was with me. This time, I led the way, and that was okay. But next time I want you to take charge,

from the beginning. I think you’ll find it more glorious when you do.”

“Can we right now?” she asked, with a tremble still in her voice.

“Let’s wait a few minutes, until your pulse returns to normal. Mine too, for that matter.”

Several minutes later we made love again. Kristin did as I suggested and took the lead from the start. This time the love

making was superb, Kristin’s face was radiant with joy.

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