The Goddess Of Fortune Read online

  By now Louise could feel her own juices restarting.

  After five minutes, she left and took the elevator. Knocking on the door, the officer, now relaxed, opened it.

  She entered and he asked, “So what’s your name, honey?”

  “Well by an amazing coincidence, my name actually is Honey, at least for tonight. And I am going to call you ‘Major Sir,’ if that is acceptable, Major Sir. And, Major Sir, I have been a very bad girl. A very naughty girl. I need to be punished for being bad. Can you do that to make me a better and pure girl again, Major Sir?”

  He smiled. “Some brandy?”

  She nodded and sat at the writing table. She lit a cigarette.

  “Sir, I hope you are going south of the navel line, but to do so you’re going to need rinse your mouth as brandy and spirits sting my feminine charms.”

  He smiled at the way Louise could be both lady-like and grossly carnal at the same time.

  “Why don’t you have a quick shower so you’re fresh for me?”

  He hesitated, but she read his mind,

  “And here’s your big briefcase that you likely need to read why you’re showering,” she said as she lugged the travel-worn bag into the bathroom.

  After the bathroom door closed, Louise stood up and unzipped her skirt at the back, stepped out, and placed the skirt neatly on the lounge chair beside the bed. This done, she resumed her seat and had her long legs crossed. Her garter belt was canary yellow, from Germany—the American ones were all so dowdy, either arc-light white or a sickly pinkish color. The stockings themselves were the palest possible yellow. While her hairs around her “charms” as she called them were wispy, she had dyed them to darken them to help them standout—she so envied girls with a large dark triangle of black hair, as she did not like her lower lips to show.

  Major Sir quickly emerged from the bathroom and even without Louise’s little show was already heavily tumescent. Louise suspected that he had helped the process along in the shower—he wouldn’t be the first man to do so. Louise stood when he entered and turned around to show him the full cache.

  He was a strong and crude lover, about the same size as Schneider, but with none of the skill and little of the attention of her boss. She gently added her teeth when he was in her mouth, and he was initially surprised—she assumed that for all the bluster he was actually fairly inexperienced with women. She could taste a little of his early juice as he got extremely excited and she was forced to curtail the sucking to prevent the much-feared 30-second man from raising its ugly head.

  Her recommendation of her lying on her stomach on three of the pillows on the bed was happily accepted by the mildly surprised Major Sir.

  “Whoa, this is kinda clever, ain’t it, Honey,” was his succinct comment.

  Schneider had taught her this position and Louise immediately took to it as she did not have to kneel on all fours as in traditional chien. She could simply lie there relaxed, arms and legs outstretched, with her feet just grazing the carpet. Even better, the solid base of pillows meant the man du jour (or was it man de l’heure?) could get in far, far deeper—the traditional version of this position allowed for far too much movement, and the only corrective step was for the man to firmly grab Louise’s shoulders, but this was always limited in its effectiveness; “Schneider’s position,” as she called it, was effective, relaxing and, best of all, extremely arousing.

  She enjoyed the crudity of the officer; he was simple, strong and had surprising stamina. And she liked the hardness. But she thought it best to relieve her tension sooner rather than later, so she concentrated on his animal grunting—the sounds a manmade were always the most exciting aspect of the act for her. Once in Berlin she had entertained a beautiful blond Adonis from the Berlin Ballet, chisel-face, glorious long blond hair; it was a total fiasco as he was mute as a mouse, she could not get aroused even as be pumped and pumped his milk inside her. She had to resort to the standard moaning and that-was-so-amazing lies.

  The start of her quite genuine contractions had—as she expected—turned the soldier’s horse onto the home straight. But to be safe she completed most of her climax before starting her standard stream of “oh, I love your big cock,” “pump all that juice inside me,” and the never-fail “fuck me harder.” And he was—like her—clearly an aural animal. Her legerdemain worked as expected, and as commanded, he did indeed pump inside her, and she was—as a professional—impressed by his completion.

  She said, “Well, now it’s my time to use the shower and I don’t need your briefcase.”

  She had removed her jacket and standard-issue cream blouse before taking up the “Schneider Position.” Wearing only her brassiere and garter belt, she walked to the bathroom. She showered and reentered the suite to find the officer smoking the obligatory post-excitement cigarette. He lit one for her and they chatted for 10 minutes. It turned out that he was a nobody, in charge of soldier hygiene supplies. She dared not ask for any details. After her leisurely cigarette, she dressed and, with a peck on the cheek, left.

  In the cab back to the embassy she was completely satiated—she leaned back completely relaxed; it was having three men in the one day—having two was exciting, but three in a day was satisfying beyond belief. Schneider was correct: the more she got, the even more voracious was her appetite.

  8: The Urbane Gentleman

  Washington

  Tuesday, 15 July 1941

  Schneider called Louise into his office.

  “I have an important assignment for you, Louise. Through an intermediary, I have arranged for you to be part of a dinner group that interviews one of the most important men in the country this evening at the Willard at 8 p.m. Henry Morgenthau is Roosevelt’s Treasury Secretary and as such is obviously extremely powerful. He is hosting a dinner for five European reporters and you. This man is one of the main forces behind Roosevelt’s New Deal program and I am very interested in you getting the details of his thinking and his current views on Roosevelt. Interestingly, he is Jewish and is actually only the second of that faith to be in an American administration. In spite of all the whining we hear about our Reich, the Americans don’t do much themselves. I want you prim and proper but still very feminine. I have prepared a list of questions I want you to ask Mr. Morgenthau. Spend one hour reading and memorizing these questions and then you can do a mock interview with me.”

  With that Schneider gave Louise three pages of hand-written questions.

  Louise took the questions and left and room and went to the embassy library.

  One hour later, Louise returned and the tedious but valuable dress rehearsal started.

  “The secret to these meetings is to be demure and in no way threatening. The other five reporters are all men, and they will all try to outshine each other early. I want you to simply smile and ask just the first two questions until desert is served. By that time, Mr. Morgenthau will be thoroughly sick of the men and with a little gentleness, Mr. Morgenthau can be shown you are his friend and not simply someone who desires to score points and to get some very printable quotes. You have a room booked for the evening at the hotel. It is extremely unlikely that Mr. Morgenthau will suggest anything—from all reports he is a very boring man. And this assignment is not one that requires your female charms, gorgeous and munificent though they are. If that does occur, then that is good, but it is neither required nor expected.”

  Louise listened intently and understood.

  At seven p.m., Louise checked into the hotel and after a quick review of the room, made her way to the bar. Her favorite, Peter, was on duty and she gave him a huge grin. Clearly, her appearance had made his evening. They chatted and Louise loosened herself with a single glass of champagne.

  Early as always, Morgenthau appeared and was seated in the central table. No reporters appeared, and so Louise walked over and introduced herself. Mr. Morgenthau, for all his modesty, could not but happen to notice Louise’s smoky sexiness and her genuine charm.

  “Well
, the White House never told me I would be in the company of someone as lovely as you, my dear.”

  “Mr. Secretary, you are far too kind.”

  Schneider’s drilling of correct titles of address was already paying off, “For God’s sake call me Henry.”

  “I rarely get to Washington, as I work out of Chicago mainly and it’s such a wonderful city. You know, I love all the big American cities, they are so much more vibrant than cities in Europe,” Louise said, careful not to mention Germany.

  “I see, so you don’t live here?”

  “Oh, no, I came to this very important meeting, I am staying here and I return to Chicago tomorrow morning on the Chicago Spirit.”

  “OK. I see.”

  “But I have a friend here, Peter the barman. I always have a nightcap.”

  As she finished her sentence the group of male reporters descended on them.

  Returning to his formal Mr. Secretary mode, Morgenthau said,

  “Welcome, gentlemen. Let’s get started, shall we?”

  It was clear from his manner that Morgenthau was as bored as the reporters were excited—it is not every day that a humble foreign correspondent gets to interview the American President’s right-hand man.

  For two hours, the reporters droned on, asking a wide array of questions, from the perceptive to the ridiculous. It seemed to Louise that the reporter from the London Times, a chap named Harold, was by far the most astute. His stutter was a little off-putting at first, but he was intelligent and charming, as well as very handsome. He said he had reported on the Spanish Civil War for the Times. One of the other reporters at the far end of the table seemed to refer to him as “Tim,” but Louise suspected she may have misheard.

  Most of the questions centered on the success of the President’s New Deal. Towards the end of the dinner, the Englishman asked about the books that Morgenthau read and had been influenced by. Deftly, Morgenthau turned the question around, back to the English reporter. At this stage, the reporter had downed a little over a bottle of wine, and three small tumblers of port, and instantly he replied “Feuerbach.” Morgenthau looked at the Englishman very directly and simply said, “Interesting choice.”

  “But, but, but, but simply from a purely philosophical viewpoint, none of it much applies to the real world,” the English reporter was quick to stutter a disclaimer.

  Louise was pretending to write notes, and looked up at Morgenthau; he was looking directly at her; she smiled.

  The dinner ended and the reporters all thanked the Treasury Secretary. The men made their way to the lobby, while Louise went first to the ladies’ room, and then to the bar. Peter was delighted to see her. She had only sipped her wine and had taken no port.

  Sipping her glass of champagne at the bar, she was not surprised to see the Secretary of the Treasury of the United States of America amble over and sit down beside her. As it was a quiet Tuesday, the bar was empty apart from the two of them and Peter.

  “Here is a confident gentleman with brains and charm; while he is not going to try to sleep with me (all he needs do is ask), he clearly enjoys female company,” she thought.

  “Peter, how are you this evening, I understand you are lucky enough to know this beautiful young lady?” Morgenthau asked suavely.

  Peter nodded, “That I am sir.”

  “And Mr. Secretary, what would you like this evening?”

  He ordered a brandy.

  “And Peter, call me Henry, please.”

  Louise compared this true gentleman with the other men she had met at Peter’s bar.

  “So you were very quiet at dinner, were those the only two questions you had?”

  Morgenthau restated Louise’s two questions with precision.

  “Well, sir, my real interest and the interest of my readers is what is the man behind the wonderful voice like? I understand that, like me, you are a great admirer of Mr. Roosevelt.”

  “That is an understatement—I am the President’s greatest fan and I think everyone knows that. I have the highest respect and regard for Franklin. He is a man of extra-ordinary talents and unequaled political skill and acumen. People often call me his Yes-man, and I suspect I am too pliant at times, but yes, I am a huge admirer. And his use of radio is unequalled, that glorious baritone voice, so smooth and powerful, like an iron fist in a velvet glove.”

  “So you mean he is a saint?”

  Morgenthau laughed, “Oh, by no means. He is human and he is sometimes all too human.”

  “So give me one of his human foibles. Nothing too indiscrete, just something of interest.”

  “You are in a sticky situation here, because I can do one of two things, I can speak on the record, which you can print, or I can speak off the record for background for you, but you can print not one word. So what’ll it be?”

  Louise’s choice was obvious, but she tried not to rush it.

  “OK, well let’s sit over here at this table by the window and I will give you some background.”

  “Peter, one more of these, please.”

  Peter nodded at Morgenthau.

  The two sat down. Louise and made a show of putting away her reporter’s notebook, she then asked,

  “Mr. Morgenthau, can I ask you why you are doing this. I mean why are you sitting down with a young reporter, and a woman at that? And I work for an obscure Chicago business paper.”

  “Well, I think some things need to be aired, and a change of direction or an adjustment to the course needs to be taken, and I think foreign newspapers can lead the way, and you are an outsider. Franklin has the White House reporters at his press briefings in his pocket and he is such an operator—he never forgets their birthdays; for his favorites, intimate dinners at the White House and little snippets before the press release is made public,” Morgenthau said without the slightest hint of malice.

  As Morgenthau had explained to Louise, he felt the White House reporters were far too chummy with the President. And while pleasant was not necessary a bad thing, too friendly was a bad thing—the White House reporters had tended to lose all objectivity and to see the President’s policy as fact, rather than a political agenda with its inherent strengths and weaknesses—for the White House reporters it was all strengths. And Roosevelt was breathtaking—and unequalled—in his ability to control and connive and con the White House reporters. Some sunlight, especially if it came from foreign reporters, could be useful, or so Morgenthau thought.

  “So I think the airing of a slightly different opinion is healthy. You see, my dear, I am a little worried, no, concerned would be more precise. We’ve run up a huge deficit and unemployment is still very high; we’ve increased the tax rate from 24% to 79% but we’re getting in fewer total dollars,” he stopped, first looking at his drink, and then at Louise.

  What put Louise into the top rank of agents was her ability to very quickly instill confidence. Mostly, she did this simply by looking and smiling and saying nothing.

  “I don’t understand, Mr. Morgenthau.”

  “Henry, for Christ’s sake,” he laughed.

  She was getting very aroused this close to real power. Not a “Major Sir,” but real, genuine power—the Treasury Secretary of the United States of America. She felt herself getting excited, she could feel her nipples swelling. It was so typical—the powerful men are suave and quiet, the water beetles are loathsomely noisy.

  “So... Henry... what is the man really like?”

  “Well Franklin is an odd old bird in many ways. As a business man, before he became governor of New York, all his ventures failed. He tried a live lobster business and lost a lot of money; he tried vending machines and that was a complete catastrophe; he tried farming in Georgia at Warm Springs and lost his shirt. My good friend Henry Wallace, who knows Franklin as well as I, told me that he would have no business dealings with Franklin because Franklin lacks the essential patience that all business men need to succeed. In other words, Franklin does not think methodically but just jumps to conclusions—he
is like an impatient child who loves to try new things. So should we entrust the nation’s economy to a failed business man? That itself is very disturbing.”

  “In contrast, my own father is a very cautious and therefore very successful business man. What many people do not realize is that most business men are patient and very careful—it’s their own money after all. So when the naive and feckless attempt to mimic the success of a business man, they take wild and sudden gambles, just like what they see on the silver screen at the talking pictures. But the Hollywood image of rapacious business men is mostly fiction. That’s not how successful business men operate. All of them that I know are far more careful than the average man on the street. They hate risk, especially risking their own money. Now while Franklin is a great leader, what I find most disconcerting is his ability to fly off on a tangent. He is dangerously impulsive and too much of a gambler. This is especially true when his so-called Brain Trust is present. No idea seems too outlandish. He also has a very dangerous sense of luck.”

  Louise turned her head to one side, as if to ask a question.

  “Well here’s an example: he and I were in the White House setting the price of gold one morning and I told Franklin it had to increase by between 18 and 22 cents, so Franklin said, ‘OK, make it 21 cents’. I asked him why, and he said, ‘well that’s one of my lucky numbers, it’s three times seven.’ I thought to myself what would happen if the world knew that the price of gold in the United States was set by one of the President’s lucky numbers. And he has lucky shoes and lucky hats and lucky dates. As my father taught me, true business men never believe in luck—many of them don’t even buy lottery tickets. Also, Franklin’s sense of the truth is a little hazy at times. He said when he was campaigning in 1920 that he had personally written the Haitian Constitution. The truth is that he had nothing to do with it.”

  Louise gave Morgenthau a taste of her sophistication and elegance by uncrossing and re-crossing her long, long legs. Not to suggest anything, but she knew that while the Treasury Secretary was a devoted man of the people he was also a man.