word on who the other passengers are?” Sam asked.
“It came through the Chicago office. I really don’t know who they are.”
“I’m not complaining, but my girlfriend is giving me a hard time about it.”
“Then I’m glad we spoiled her plans. We’ve got enough turbulence up there without dealing with more from the passengers.” They both laughed.
Sam boarded the plane and set himself up in the rear compartment behind the bulkhead. It was set aside for use by business travelers. The passenger compartment was just in front of the bulkhead. He needed the time to read his e-mail and to review the police dossier on Eleanor Moreau. Sam glanced at his wristwatch. The limousine was scheduled to pick up Esther right about now, but he knew that there was no way in hell she’d be ready. Esther was never on time, not for anything or anybody. It was a safe bet that Esther would not arrive for at least an hour. Sam was hoping that the other party, whoever it was, would also be late. He settled back on an adjustable swivel chair in the ergonomically designed lounge, positioned himself near the window and deployed the portable desk. He placed his iPad in front of him, but didn’t open it. Instead, he reached into his briefcase, and pulled out the file on Eleanor Moreau.
Sam peeked out the window before diving into the file, just to make sure no one was coming. Sam always had a habit of looking over his shoulder. That’s when he caught sight of the white stretch limo approaching the plane. The Caddy came to a stop on the tarmac next to the Top Flight Jet. The driver jumped out and ran to open the trunk. He pulled out 12 pieces of luggage and handed it to the Red Cap. Then he rushed to the passenger door, opened it with a whoosh, and stood at attention. Sam was shocked when he saw her leave the limo. He recognized her immediately, but it took him a few seconds before putting the name to the face. It was none other than Qu Min Lee, the queen of porn.
Qu Min was a cult figure. She had learned her lessons well, from the master of media manipulation—the infamous Materna. According to Materna, the media loved contrasts: Qu Min applied similar logic to the porn business with the goal of legitimizing her profession by exemplifying her overall intelligence, wit and middle class upbringing. According to the story put out by her publicist, Qu Min was a victim of circumstance. Her father, a native of Taiwan, was a chemical engineer and professor at Cal Tech. Her French born mother was a concert cellist. By her junior year in high school, Qu Min was an accomplished violinist, having given a concert in Alice Tully Hall. On top of that she was a straight A student, with a very respectable score of 2350 on her SATs. But, her father beat her frequently and with savage ferocity; rumor had it that he abused her sexually as well. At 16, a junior in high school, Qu Min was forced to leave home.
A five-year sojourn into the realm of sleaze supported her through 12th grade and four years at Ohio State University. Prostitution, nude dancing, and phone sex paved the way for her degree in computer science. The story would have ended there, if Qu Min had settled for a traditional lifestyle. But Qu Min wasn’t going to work at a desk job for a hundred a day, when she was accustomed to making a thousand a night. An ad appearing in Trim Magazine looking for young women seeking a career in the movies brought her to the doorstep of Alan Pearl, a well known producer of X-rated flicks. He took an instant liking to Qu Min, recognizing in her, the key quality necessary to make it in adult movies— fiery passion. Nothing is more marketable in the porn business than the real thing. Qu Min had an unbridled desire to “make it” whatever the cost. It came through in her audition with Pearl. Pearl made Qu Min his personal Pygmalion. There was only one condition—she had to marry him. Pearl was going to make her a star and not cash in on her rise to fame.
Qu Min married the Pearl guy, as she liked to refer to him. But even before returning to his Malibu digs for their honeymoon, they made an unscheduled stop at the home of the renowned plastic surgeon, Evan Kolb. The three of them planned the construction of the most beautiful woman who ever lived: cheek job, nose job, eye job, lip job, chin job, hip job, tummy tuck, skin abrasion, cellulite removal, breast implant, and most unbelievably, vaginal reconstruction. In contrast to Esther, whose beauty was the legacy of centuries of natural selection, Qu Min’s was the product of an unholy alliance of art, science and industry. Qu Min provided the art, Kolb the science, and Pearl the cash.
Qu Min had her own unique concept of beauty and sexuality; it was her ability to sketch out precisely what she wanted that made the difference. It proved to be the perfect blueprint for Kolb. The outcome wasn’t always an unqualified success, but Qu Min was willing to submit to the knife as many times as needed to achieve the desired result. And in the end, she succeeded beyond her wildest dreams. Pearl produced more than 200 flicks featuring Qu Min. She had an exotic appeal that transcended her incredibly gorgeous face and body. She was genuinely turned on by people watching her perform sexual ballet as she referred to her performances, and that came across on the screen. Under the auspices of Lifestyle Distributions, the dominant force in the porn industry, Pearl and Qu Min stashed away a pile of money.
But in the end, Pearl succumbed to his prurient nature. He continued the practice of auditioning every wannabe who knocked at the door. Although Qu Min had an emotional dependence on Pearl, losing him was addition by subtraction. But without Pearl’s support, Qu Min had no desire to continue in “the business.” All she had left was her mystique, still a potent force, as evidenced by the thousands of hits per day on her Web page.
Sam was one of her admirers. He had returned to the loneliness of his apartment on many a night, to find himself searching for a Qu Min flick on Spice. He was seldom disappointed. She appeared almost every night. No one could move like Qu Min nor could anyone duplicate her inimitable style. She was an artist when it came to sex. Like millions of others, Sam fantasized about a trip to LA to meet her. But unlike the unwashed masses, Sam could have pulled it off. He knew his share of the rich and famous. But somehow, he never got around to it.
Standing on the tarmac, she was a vision. Her long black silky hair flew in her face. Sam’s heart raced as she curled her right arm above her head, delicately putting her hair back in place. Her every movement was pre-programmed to arouse. Sam was already bothered in anticipation of her boarding the plane. She was wearing a low-cut vermilion DKNY cotton top. The milling was unmistakable. It meticulously outlined her breasts. Around her neck hung a large ruby pendant, which sparkled when it caught the sun. Her jet-black her, and her collagen enhanced red lips provided a stunning contrast against the background of her light olive complexion. But it was the shape of her eyes that was most bedeviling—the signature feature of her beauty, their oriental outline had been reshaped by Kolb into the most exquisite curvature. She wore light blue contact lenses that matched her sapphire blue earrings.
As she approached the stairway to the jet, Sam could hardly breathe. He quickly composed himself. In the face of the greatest temptation imaginable, he was mentally prepared to turn away. But when Qu Min walked past the bulkhead into the cabin and the two of them made eye contact, Sam knew he was going to be tested. Sam had come face to face with a temptation that he could never have imagined.
“Hello,” she said in a seductively low voice. “I’m Qu Min Lee.”
“Sam Sonn. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Sam did not let on that he knew who she was.
“Are you traveling alone, Mr. Sonn?”
Sam almost wished he could say yes. “No. Someone will be joining me. And you?”
“My boyfriend, Buddy Radford. He should be arriving soon.”
“The horse trainer?” Sam asked.
“Yes, you probably are aware that his horse Armageddon won the Triple Crown last year,” she replied.
“The fellow with the white hair combed forward and the Richaud sun glasses?”
“That’s
