(A take-off continuation of "Texas Gal" by Crystal)

  

Dallas Doll

by Dee Eon

Chapter Thirty-Six -- er, Chapter One

 

Damn! That's one friggin' nice filly!' was the first thought crossing Hugh Swainer's mind as his binoculars spotted far across the antebellum mansion's spawling lawn and its huge fancy hoe-down barbecue, a stunning sweet-sixteenish blonde cowgirl perched a bar stool among three other giggling and no less striking auburn cowgirls near the huge sizzling spits and grills turning whole marinaded steers.

Swainer whistled under his breath, taking in the blonde vision downwards from the white cowgirl hat crowning fluffy flaxen tresses which cascaded like silky sun over dangling prairie schooners ear rings and the slim shoulders and lush deep neckline of a white cotton blouse and playfully lapping a white leather belt cinching the waspish waist of a white suede skirt with a fringe running all the way around a hem falling just below nicely crossed knees and sleek calves playfully rocking white cowgirl boots with four-inch heels.

"So, that's the brainy babe, eh?" he quipped at the suddenly even more challenging reality of something once only appreciated by paled photos from afar. "Yea. Nice chicklette. Very nice! Heck with contracts! I'd happily knock her as a freebie!" he chuckled, turning on his chair and facing the stony expressions on the knot of Old Dominion businessmen under the round poolside table's oversized parasol, their eyes sharing the same icy visage toward the distant object of his new interest and titillation.

'Geeze!' Swainer thought; 'If looks could kill, it's a damn good thing that bubbly blonde bunny's way outta eyeshot away these guys!'

"It's hard to believe she's what you all say --" Swainer commented, suddenly jolting looks up from the men as though he yelled police during a drug deal " -- I mean, I can understand an heiress getting heaped with daddy's jewels, but that baby babe -- the V.P. of a couple of companies and stuff? Come'on!"

The men suddenly seemed to relax and glanced at another in unison relief, as though a deep secret just passed overhead and was missed and continued sipping iced glasses and tumblers of Old Crow whiskey, gin and bourbon and julep.

One of them, southern dapper in a white suit named Thorehill frowned, unamused by the muscular college jock's levity. "You shouldn't be surprised, Mr. Swainer -- unless you haven't read the literature we've provided you."

"Sure, Mr. Thorehill, I've read them, but I was expecting some blue-haired pennypincher wrapped in mink stoles, not some high school cheerleader!" Swainer quipped, turning back to reappraise the giggling blonde. "Darla Anne Drake, fifteen years nine months old, creamy white, golden blonde, baby-blue eyes, five-four, one-oh-one pounds, thirty-five twenty-four thirty-five, prodigy and President of Piermont Paper and V.P. of Ameri-Moore Paper, I.Q. one-fifty-seven? Her mom must be Marilyn Monroe and daddy's Einstein."

"You needn't worry about sparring with 'Miss' Drake's precocious business acumen, Mr, Swainer," spoke up Wickerham, uttering the word 'Miss' with that same odd almost disdainful lilt the others all did. "You'll be disarming your target from a totally unprepared flank altogether."

"Not bad looking flanks either!" Swainer remarked glimpsing the little leggy blond then facing their hard faces. "Er, you all only want me to hit her with charm, right?" he quipped in an attempt at levity, but the five faces didn't waver, though the one named Richard Wilcox wistfully snickered an icy way that even chilled Swainer.

"Mr. Swainer -- " Wilcox uttered, "We brought you here to size up your assignment, not drown it in drool."

"Sure...but if you really want me to score for you, shouldn't I know the whole game? I mean, you pluck me out of the blue for a 'special mission' that can swim me in the gravy for twenty lifetimes, and all you want me to do is move on a leggy looker?"

"We want you do much more than 'move', Swainer! We want you to hook, line and sinker that -- that heifer!" acidly snapped Peck. "It shouldn't be too difficult, what the all the tennis circuit and men's clubs legends of your ladykiller talents, correct?"

Swainer blushed. "I'm flattered, really. Look, there isn't a red-blooded guy worth his nuts who wouldn't want to make a pass on that chicklette, but look around. You see any boys her age near or even around her? She might be a shave off sixteen, but even heiresses that young have a panting boyfriend or two hanging around just to flatter themselves."

"'Miss' Drake's -- not moved by the same hormonal impulses as her peers are," stated Thorehill, receiving several almost cautioning glances from the others, "She's a -- budding business nerd, as they say today. Her -- heart beats to a different drum."

"A gorgeous geek, huh? Well, from what I see, those cute sisters of hers are hanging around like offensive linemen in case any guy even tried to get close to say hello to her. Considering how much she's worth, I almost don't blame them."

"We trust your linebacker skills will deftly break that line, Mr. Swainer," quipped Thorehill. "Besides, a favorable introductory's already been paved for you."

"Right," George Rokor affirmed. "No cold calling. No cold bitchy stares to buzz you off."

"Gate's wide open, huh? How'd you all swing that?"

The men all seemed to pause then Thorehill spoke up. "Our 'sponsor's assured us that you'll be received most graciously, Mr. Swainer. You'll be one-up over any other male who's entertained thoughts of a congress with 'Miss' Drake."

Swainer nodded and eyed over his associates with dying curiosity. "Look, I know I'm not supposed to inquire, but as long as I'm at the starting gate, I gotta ask; You're all way more than a gaggle of gold diggers out to fleece a pint-sized cow-princess. You all look more like guys who got dumped on the eve of the prom. Really, what's she to you all? A spoiled rich granddaughter who trashed your Christmas presents or what?"

"We've all had -- certain unwittingly fraudulent business dealings with 'Miss' Darla Anne Drake," Wickerham issued with a barely muted bitter edge. "That's all you really to know for now. Maybe more than you should."

"Well, I didn't think it was romantic!"

Ed Gilford spoke up; "All we want you to do -- being paid lavishly to do -- is sweep 'Miss' Drake off her feet."

"-- If you can!" Wilcox drily added behind his whiskey tumbler, slighting Swainer although somehow in the way he said it didn't seem as provocative to his manhood as it was some cryptic academic doubt.

Swainer grinned it off and sipped his gin and tonic. "You're insulting my reputation, Mr. Wilcox."

"You might find wiling 'Miss' Darla Anne Drake over somewhat different in responding to your charisma," replied Thorehill. "You'll likely find that breaching her disposition toward males akin to thawing an iceberg."

Swainer shrugged. "Hey, all babes are the same once you strip their sass."

"We hope your confidence matches your reputation, " Wickerham stated.

"Well, it doesn't help crimping my style, considering that you gents have tied my hands behind my back."

"And those are restrictions in granite, Mr. Swainer," issued Wickerham with deadly sobriety. "Any violations forfeits not only your percentage but our advance fee. The stipulations is absolutely no carnal overture beyond light petting, and there's to be no violation of the integrity of her garments."

"You mean keep her threads on."

"We mean no trespass thorough or under them!" stated Thorehill with grim urgency. "You can caress all the bare flesh you need to, but no burrowing under her hem or blouse buttons in any fashion!"

"I feel like I'm with a date on her house's porch divan with daddy watching from the curtains."

"We're not concerned with 'Miss' Drake's virtue or morals, only of the success of your mission!" stated Thorehill with chilly unconcern. "We've gone through great lengths searching for one with your -- qualifications. We hired you because you have certain vital assets; those boyish looks, excellent culinary skills, remarkable thespian talents...and -- indiscriminate sexual preferences," he uttered in a dry sour way that made abashed Swainer somehow feel dirty.

Swainer bristled. "What the hell's that got to do with it?"

Rokor jumped in; "Any lounge lizard can score a bimbo an hour, but we require someone of infinitely greater finesse to spear that bitch!"

"Just make a rich chicklette fall silly for me."

"More than fall," stated Gilford. "We want her enamored with you, smitten as a schoolgirl on her first date."

"Well she sure looks it! In fact, after seeing her in the flesh, I'm kinda wondering whether I got as clear a field as I thought. I mean, I hear these Texans kinda frown pretty heavy on cradle robbing here."

"The Drakes, like any well-bred young ladies in these parts, are coy about their years," explained Wickerham. "No one will fault you nor even curb you for 'mistaking' Miss Darla Drake for eighteen. In fact, they will find it gamefully flattering so long as you keep your trifling in check."

"But we need her wrapped around your finger tight as a bow!" added Wilcox.

"Hey, keep your shirts on! I can stroke her fire! She might be a stuck-up brainy kid, but she's street-wise as road-kill. Innocence's her heel."

"Maybe you're a bit presumptuous about her 'innocence,' or haven't you read the report on Gina and Maria Marcoti?"

"Hell, two babettes getting it on can't hold a candle to a dude playing music with their erogenous zones! Little Miss Darla there's gonna find me a whole different ballgame! Only thing is, while you all have been harping on my pitching, you haven't gone much into what happens after I catch! Like, what's this 'Phase Two' of yours?"

Though they didn't glimpse at another, the same poker mask flitted all the men. "We can't discuss that until you've established a deep rapport," demurred Thorehill, rising his tumbler. "To reveal more prematurely will -- taint your effectiveness. That's all you need to know."

"I dig. Alright, deal's a deal." Swainer said, and game for the hunt, knocked back a final swig of gin and rose. "Done! Drake's smiiten as a kitten!"

"Keep to the schedule, Mr. Swainer," Wickerham severely said.

"And the restrictions," warned Wilcox, and Swainer flippantly saluted then and sauntered off.

Rokor muttered. "Asshole."

"He does those too, doesn't he?" quipped Thorehill and the men chortled and stared the far blond cowgirl.

"Think Romeo could swing it?" Peck murmured aloud.

Wickerham mulled; "I have to admit Swainer's pretty keen on human nature."

"Yea -- female nature!" Peck stressed with a shadowy doubt. "Maybe we should've told him!"

Thorehill shook his head. "No, that would've changed his approach, and as baleful as I must confess, our little lamb there just might have the keen to sense that he knows. Ignorance is perferrable to enlightenment in this point."

Peck smirked. "Think he'll be able to wile our fairy princess?"

"There's a good chance. We're dealing with a sheltered and socially-naieve adolescent whose sexual fires have only been lightly fanned like a smouldering bonfire, and it might not matter who or what kindles it to blindly blaze and consume. Drake's vanity and innocence and juiced-up hormones are our allies, so I'd stress the positive."

Wilcox snickered. "Well, if Swainer strays too far, won't he be surprised!"

"That's why our 'sponsor' stipulated a dandy 'bi' for this job; no violent rejections if things get out of hand. In fact, a chance seduction might even be advantangeous for our plans."

"Hell, I wouldn't mind humping inside them sweet panties myself!" Wilcox vengefully muttered, making a perverse notion sound sweet while glaring at the little blonde, and the others grudgingly and wistfully nodded.

"If Cassanova lives up his rep, maybe we all will!" Wilcox said, drooling venom.

Thorehill turned to the others like the head of a boardroom. "Skim that latest P.I. report?" he asked Wickerham.

"He's a good gumshoe; tracked and profiled all parties all the way to South Carolina and points west."

"The nun, Milner, clerk, scouts?"

"Statements all -- after some generous 'persuasion'," Wickerham uttered with a sly smile that the others echoed and nodded to.

Gilford asked Thorehill, "See Mabel giving us any trouble?"

Thorehill sat back. "Granny'll know better than meddle in 'first love.' In fact, once Swainer gets his hooks in, if she tries to then it only helps us."

Wickerham chuckled. "Rebellious love, eh?"

"If the old bitch does butt in, we'll just slam her the reports!" Peck bitterly said. "She might want to take the bullets herself, but she can't protect her precious little darlings from taking the fall for fraud and deception too!"

"I doubt it'll come to that, but it's a contingency. What about Clark?"

"Enough shit to put Anita away for malpractice for three hundred years."

Gleeful heads nodded but Gilford mulled. "She might not care. She's not only close to the Drakes, but passionately protective to a fault, you know?"

Peck shrugged. "She'll care when she sniffs the kind of hellhole Rutgers State Pen is -- especially for grossed-out medical child abuse and endangerment!"

The prison mention made Wilcox and Gilford grimace then faced the up-to-now quiet country doctor type with a look of gratitude. "Never forget this 'favor', Doc! Never!" Wilcox said regardingly.

Dr. Perry shrugged. "Well, I was 'had' long before any of you, gentlemen. My profession and honor taken for a fool. Besides, your exceptional good behaviors greased your parole boards just as effectively as -- our sponsor's 'investments' in several state campaigns' helped open doors for you folks. So long as you boys mind your manners on release, we'll see our undue suffering and humiliation repaid a thousand-fold."

"Sure you can do this fancy head job, Doc?" asked Rokor.

Dr. Perry nodded. "I've studied Clark's notes and records the P.I. fetched us, and, after a year's training I'm pretty confident I can do it."

Wilcox couldn't resist asking. "Come on, Doc, the horse's out the gate now! Owe up; who sprung Rich and I? Who's pushing all the action? How'd he swing our incog invites in here? How'd he find that freaky little fairy out anyway?"

The others leaned close, hoping to finally hear something crucial long denied. Dr. Perry shook his head. "All in good time, boys. All I can say is that our sponsor's a -- well, a long secret admirer of our dear precocious 'Miss' who was beguiled double by a lie, and now out for truth and justice and payback."

Gilford added; "And the best thing about it is, even if we blow it, we're doing the law a tidy favor. Man! Can you imagine that little bitchette thrown into juvie hall with some punk gangs? Better than a bullet in the head!"

"Damn!" Peck muttered unsatisfied, eying the distant girl. "We oughta bust the freaky filly to the press right now! Take their whole damn phony empire down!"

"Easy, son, easy!" Thorehill assuaged. "I feel your bile; Lord, we all do! But why slay a golden goose when you can milk a calf?"

A grin spread Gilford's lips. "You mean a golden Drake?"

The men chuckled and toasted with whiskey, gin, and scotch and struck cigars while eying Swainer's swaggering approach of the far flaxen fox and her comely auburn entourage.

"Susan, Judy, Mary, eh? Sisters just as nice too!" Wilcox quipped. "Maybe they might 'cooperate' real personal, you think? They're old enough to go up the creek too. Complicity in deception, right?"

Wickerham chuckled. "That's thinking ahead! A hostage harem -- " he waved over the vast plush lawn, "-- and a spread fit for six sultans!"

"Yea..." drawled Rokor in the middle of his wolfish ogle at the tittering littlest blonde. "You know, I've never done kinky in my life...but that's sure one sweet excuse to bite a piece!..."

  

  

  

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