she meekly observed.
“You really need that long to write six thousand words?” Augie shook his head.
“My school work,” Bettie pleaded, shrugging her slim shoulders.
“H’m. Well, all right,” Augie said pleasantly, by way of dismissing her again.
Bettie could have cried. But this time she didn’t. Instead she went back to her dorm room and logically plotted to capture Augie Rose’s attentions through her writing. She had always done well writing letters. A letter had brought her to the interest of Hugo Sands, which had started her on the road to becoming a player. Now she was determined to write the best letters anyone had ever written on the subjects he had given her.
While Bettie knew very little about most of the topics on Augie Rose’s list, she had an invaluable research tool at hand, in the person of her new friend, Brooke Neuman. They had met at a campus B&D support meeting and were even in the same class. Brooke was a native of Hollywood and like Bettie shared a lifelong fixation on spanking. Brooke was in the film school at UCLA. She also had an interesting part time job, working at The Keep, a friendly little player’s club on Las Palmas.
Through working at The Keep as a submissive-switch, Brooke had come into contact with every variety of (civilized) kinkiness and was happy to recount specific sessions for Bettie’s letters column. Brooke had so many experiences, in fact, and so nice a turn of phrase in describing them, that Bettie decided to split her assignment with Brooke and let her write half the letters, all the truly esoteric ones, for half her fee. This enabled Bettie to fulfill her assignment faithfully, creatively and with integrity without infringing too brutally on her required study time. Becoming wrapped up in her first West Coast romance it was easy to forget that she was out here to get a degree.
Even so, what with spell checking and reorganizing the materials several times, Bettie was three or four days later in delivering her assignment than promised. She emailed the entire document to Augie Rose on a Thursday evening and awoke the next morning to a summons to Beverly Hills.
His email had been terse but it set her heart racing: “Good job. Come by at three and I’ll have a check for you.”
By noon it had begun to rain, with lightning and thunder. It became dark and cold, nature conspiring against a smart outfit. Instead Bettie went in jeans tucked into boots and a thick woolen sweater (with a matching beret) over a soft flannel shirt. At the hat and sweater set, Augie Rose almost went to pieces, but held himself together until she had been seated in his office with a cup of coffee before her.
“Well, young lady, you’re quite a good writer,” Augie told her, lighting a cigarette and offering her one, which she accepted. Smoking was a new habit in which she occasionally indulged, especially in nervous making situations.
“Half of the letters were written by my friend Brooke. She works at a B&D club and I thought her perspective would add verisimilitude. I marked each of my own letters with an asterisk.”
“You didn’t have to tell me that,” he said, smiling faintly.
“I have no reason to conceal it. Besides, I wanted you to know which ones I wrote myself.”
“I’ll give you creative work on a regular basis if you’d like it,” Augie promised. “Providing you can learn to write a little faster.”
“That would be wonderful,” Bettie admitted.
“I like to develop new talent,” said Augie, writing out and handing her two checks for $150 each. “I split it for you and left the pay to blank for your friend so you don’t have to put her check through your account. If we do this regularly, I’ll need her to come in and fill out an employment form for tax purposes, just as you did.”
“Thank you very much. Shall I bring her with me next time?”
“Please do.”
Bettie felt desolate as she realized that she was being dismissed yet again. Even after reading her stories! It was simply unbearable. She tried to rein in her emotions. Perhaps he was doing and saying nothing simply because he didn’t realize just how much she wanted him to do and say something. She opened her lips to speak, but closed them again and dropped her eyes, not daring to express her thoughts to a man who was essentially nothing more to her at this point than a disinterested employer.
“Bettie? Is something the matter?” he asked.
Bettie heaved a sigh and murmured, “Are you really going to make me say it?”
“Say what, dear?”
Bettie’s eyes widened and met his at the first endearment that had ever passed between them.
“Say why I keep coming back here,” she replied, meeting his eyes with an adorable pout, finally tired of pretending.
“I’m sorry?” he said, as though he didn’t understand. “I thought you kept coming back here because I’ve been giving you work.”
“That’s part of it. But not the important part,” Bettie explained.
“Tell me about the important part.”
“I would have thought you’d have figured it out by now!” Bettie accused. “Being as you’ve read my letters. And knowing that I was virtually sent to you by Hugo Sands via Garda Hudson!” Bettie had worked herself up. She no longer cared that she might be humiliating herself. She had to make her position clear to this dense man.
“Bettie, you’re just so impossibly young,” Augie protested. “It doesn’t seem proper for me to think about you in that way.”
“So why dangle me along by giving me work?” Bettie demanded, seeing a swift, unsatisfying end to her day’s work looming in the next half minute and feeling close to tears of frustration.
“I always need editors,” Augie replied honestly. “You need to use your spell checker more, but you’re sharp. I’m ready to be your publisher. Doesn’t that make you happy?”
“Well, yes. Thank you,” she replied, forcing herself to focus on the positive aspects of the situation, as he advised, and calming down somewhat.
“Have you had lunch yet?” he asked kindly. Bettie shook her head, suddenly feeling butterflies in her stomach.
“No? Then let’s go celebrate the commencement of your literary career,” he said, leading her out of his office. Augie had seen a tear start in her eye and realized that to pretend that there was nothing going on would benefit no one any longer. For some reason, she wanted him, and now, having read her marvelously erotic stories, he wanted her too.
They went to a Beverly Hills brasserie and she was served the wine of his choice without question. The fare was of an elegance she’d never tasted before and she feasted with intense pleasure while basking in her new patron’s gaze. Then, over dessert he said, “Bettie, why were you four days late?”
Bettie stammered out several excuses to which Augie did not appear to be listening. “You know, you ought to be spanked for missing your deadline like that,” he interrupted her to remark, studying her casually, leaning his chin on his hand. Bettie’s color rose. “I notice you don’t argue with that,” Augie observed, their dark eyes meeting.
“No,”
