Fanchon's Book(43)

"Not here, Fanchon. Too many people around."

"Sorry… " But I didn't retract my delving fingers; her remonstrance was only lukewarm, not nearly as torrid as the permissive response of her flesh. "I'll never be able to keep my hands off you. Can't we avoid the crowd?"

"Well… "

"Please, darling? We could take a walk in the garden. It's dark back there."

"You're hot for me, huh?"

"Burning up." People passed by and I had to pull my hand free-but only to raise it to my lips. "See?" I poked my tongue out and tasted her on my wet fingers. "Won't you take pity on your poor passionate slave?"

"Okay. I suppose we can see the fireworks from the garden. But once they begin, no monkey business. And I mean that."

"All right. No monkey business. But it won't be easy for me. I'll be thinking of what's under your coat." We moved down the pathway toward the rear of the building. "Fireworks aren't exactly my dish of tea, I'm afraid. When you see one skyrocket you've seen them all."

"Never mind. If you're hot, you'll just have to save it. Oh, by the way, how did your phone call come out?"

"Fine. Highly successful, as a mater of fact. But I won't bore you with the details."

"Fanchon, relax, will you? Tell me about it."

"I didn't think you cared."

"Oh, don't be so touchy. I'm still sure there's an easier way to get the money, but I won't discourage you. Anyhow, talking about it will help keep your mind off sex. What did your agent have to say?"

I had to chuckle. "Sex, that's what. I'm going to write a sexy novel for the American market."

"Hey, that sounds like fun. Tell me more."

I told her. Even if she seemed less than optimistic, I was glad to see her show some interest. And so I gave her a general playback of my conversation with Stutz, clarifying a few of the particulars for myself at the same time. It was all new to me, this business of writing just to make money. Quite different from poems and short stories done for the sake of art and or prestige; and it was good for me to talk about it.

There has been a recent change in policy, a major one-according to my agent-among book publishers in the United States: blue-nosed censorship was no longer in vogue. Most of the houses were clamoring for hot manuscripts, and with a bit of effort any halfway decent writer could make a quick dollar. But the theme had to be sex, mainly, not romance or mystery or adventure. Sex-and the hotter the better. Oliver's pornography collection would come in handy as a reference library, I realized, although I wasn't yet sure whether I wanted my sex scenes that explicit. Nor did I feel any kinship with the Anglo-Saxon four-letter words, despite my familiarity with the English language and the American vernacular. But I knew damn well that I could grind out a novel sexy enough for the buying public-and I told that to Kristi in no uncertain terms.

She nodded soberly. "If you can, then go to it. Will you be starting right away?"

"Yes, of course. not the actual writing, though. I'll have to come up with a plot first. Some kind of sin-and-redemption twist, probably. But I'll be working on it."

"A plot, huh? That shouldn't be very hard. Fanchon, I'll bet you could write a book about us."

"Darling, this is supposed to be fiction, not-" And then It struck me. A fanciful tale about the two of us? Intriguing. Worthy of consideration, surely. Enthusiastic or not, the little genius had hit upon something. I patted her cheek fondly. "That's an excellent idea darling. Absolutely marvelous."