The Making of a Gigolo (9) - Amanda Griggs

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

Chapter Five

Amanda looked nervously at her watch. It was half an hour past midnight, and he wasn't there yet. Things were already off to a rocky start.

Jerry, the night DJ had started a one hour tape already because she'd been two minutes late. In Radio, two minutes was like two hours. He had offered to stay and help her get situated, but she sent him on home. She didn't need to be shown what to do. She was the General Manager.

She wondered what he'd do, when Bobby got there. Would he kiss her? Would he take off his clothes and strut around, trying to excite her?

She paced. She'd already brewed a pot of coffee. She knew she'd probably drink two pots a night, just to stay awake. That wouldn't help her stomach any, but it had to be done.

She saw lights in the parking lot, and saw him get out of his car. He wasn't dressed in a suit, this time. Just jeans and a parka, like everybody else in the world. He had a paper bag in one hand, and what looked like a knapsack in his other. Did gigolos bring their lunch with them to work?

He came in, said, "Hi," and then took off his coat, tossing it on a chair. He set the paper bag on the receptionist's desk, outside the sound booth, and the knapsack by her office door.

"I brought some doughnuts," he said, getting into the paper sack. "I have a sister who loves to make them, but doesn't eat them. She says they make you fat."

He looked so normal. For the first time she realized he was as tall as she was. He had on a faded cotton shirt, with a vague western cut to it. His shoulders looked huge. She looked at his waist, which was slim. His jeans were faded too, as if they'd seen a lot of wear.

"You don't have to worry about that," he said, extending a pastry to her. "You'll never be fat. I can tell."

She doubted that. Her hips still seemed to be growing. She was glad her breasts hadn't kept pace. She'd look like Dolly Parton if they had. Well, maybe not that big, but still ... The doughnut was still warm. She bit into it and an explosion of sweetness filled her mouth. This was delicious! He pulled a milk carton out of the bag.

"I got chocolate milk too," he said. "Can't have Matilda's doughnuts without chocolate milk."

He opened the carton and handed it to her.

"I don't have a glass," she said, her voice muffled, because it was mostly full of the most delicious doughnut she'd ever tasted.

"Who needs a glass?" he asked, off handedly.

She took a drink and set the carton down. He picked it up and took a drink too. Amanda felt, for some reason, that that was a very intimate thing to do, but he just accepted it as normal.

She blinked. Of course he would. What was drinking after somebody, when you were going to share other much more intimate body fluids shortly? She checked the clock on the wall. There was still twenty-two minutes to go, before she had to change the tape. The "box", which was a small speaker on the wall, with a knob in the lower right corner, was turned down. It wasn't supposed to be, because that picked up whatever the station was broadcasting. You couldn't tell if there was dead air, if the box was turned down. She went over to it and turned the knob. Paul Whiteman started coming out.

"That sounds like the records my mother plays, sometimes," said Bobby.

"It's the best music ever produced," said Amanda.

"Mamma tried to teach my sisters and me how they danced, back then, but we never really caught on."

"I suppose you like Rock and Roll," said Amanda, her voice dark.

"I'm not much on Elvis, or the Beatles," he said. "I really like the Moody Blues, and Three Dog Night. The Beach Boys are old, but I still like everything they ever did. Jan and Dean too. Mamma has some of their records too. Us kids kind of learned to dance to them. Elton John does some good stuff. Dianna Ross makes me horny every time I hear her."

"I've never heard of half those people," said Amanda.

He looked astonished. "That's impossible. You run a radio station!"

"We play big band music at KDEF," said Amanda. "That's all we've ever played and that's all we ever will play!"

"Why?" asked Bobby.

"Why?" She sounded confused. "That's what we play."

"Why is that all you'll ever play? Don't people get tired of it?"

"I don't," she said, stiffly. "My father doesn't."

"Okay, but what about your listeners?"

"Our listeners love big band!" insisted Amanda.

"Can I ask you a question?" Bobby asked.

She wanted to say "No!", but she got a grip on herself. "Okay," she said.

"All the radio stations I ever listen to are always running giveaways, or prize contests, and stuff like that. They seem to have money to give away, but this afternoon I heard you tell the repairman to come Monday, because you couldn't afford his weekend rates." He looked at her.

"That's not a question," she said, petulantly.

"Your listeners may love big band," he said. "But I bet you don't have a lot of listeners."

"That's not a question either" she growled.

"Why is the station in so much trouble?" he finally asked.

"I thought you were here for sex!" she said, almost angrily.

"Do you feel like having sex right now?" he asked, calmly.


"Then I'm not here for sex," he said.

He was maddening. He was supposed to make her feel better ... not worse! The worst part of it was that he was right. Everybody else in the industry, in the Hutchinson area, was doing great. KDEF had been at the bottom of the ratings for years. Her father hadn't cared. They had enough money to pay the employees, and run the station. He served his loyal listeners the kind of music they wanted. Wasn't that what a radio station was for? The trouble was that their loyal listeners were dying off, or had been captured by those other stations, with their flashy vans, and promotions. Of course most of those stations were in Wichita, where ad revenues just poured in.

With a jerk, she remembered what he'd just said. He wasn't here for sex. She forgot how they got to that point, so rattled was she.

"If you're not here for sex ... what are you here for?" she asked, feeling almost paralyzed.

"I'm here for whatever you need," he said.

"I don't understand what that means," she whined.

The box went silent, and stayed silent for ten seconds. She flashed a look at the clock.

"Shit!" she yelled, and burst into action. They were outside the sound booth, and she ran past him, tearing through the door, and to the tape player. Where was the next tape? She hadn't put out the next tape! She looked around. She couldn't remember where they put them.

"Where are the fucking tapes?" she wailed.

She'd been in the sound booth before ... lots of times ... but she'd never actually worked the sound booth. Not for more than ten minutes. She knew the mechanics of it ... but where were the tapes?

"How do you turn this on?" asked Bobby, suddenly beside her. His finger was pointing to a turntable. Jerry had left the record on it.

She stabbed at a button, and the turntable started to turn. She reached for the needle and it scratched across an inch of record before she got control of it. She settled it into the first groove, looked to her left, and punched a button.

Johnny Alladin's Society Band began coming out of the box.

"Thank you," she sighed.

"No problem," he said. "What do the tapes look like? I'll help you find them."

Feeling stupid, she pulled the tape cartridge from the player and showed it to him. He looked around.

"A bunch of those would fit in that cabinet over there," he said, "if there were about three rows of them, side by side," he added.

She went to the cabinet and slid the drawer out. He was right. In three rows across, and ten rows deep, there were thirty tape cartridges, minus the one in her hand.

The phone started ringing and she shoved the used tape into the empty hole, and pulled out the next one in line. The record was playing. She could answer the phone.

"KDEF, the soul of music," she answered.

"What's going on over there?" came a whining voice through the phone. "You people played that album last hour. I don't want to hear it again!"

"We're working on it, Sir," she said smoothly into the phone. "We had a little technical problem, but it will be fixed soon."

"I don't want to hear that again," insisted the caller.

"We'll get right on it," she said, trying to sound cheerful. "After the song that's playing, we'll have it fixed."

She hung up the phone, before the man could tell her he didn't want to hear Johnny Alladin again ... again. She went to the player, inserted the new cartridge, and listened to the first cut on the record end. With a flourish, she pushed the button that started the tape player, and lifted the needle off the disk on the turntable.

The box went silent.

The box stayed silent.

"Ohhh fuck me to tears," she moaned. "What now?"

Bobby's arm went past her, and punched a button. Stan Kenton's music burst from the box, already past the opening. She had forgotten to change the device selector. She slumped.

"C'mere," said Bobby, softly. "You need a hug."

She let herself be drawn into his arms. He crushed her to him, and she was instantly aware that he was strong. He wasn't just strong ... he was strong! His hands smoothed across her back, and she just automatically lifted her hands to slide them along his waist, and to his lower back.

This felt good. He was right. She did need a hug.

"Take a deep breath," he said.

She did.

"Push your breasts against me."

That rattled her.

"Come on," he said. "I won't hurt you. Deep breath, and push your breasts against me."

She did it ... mostly because she didn't know what else to do.

"That's good," he said. "Now rub from side to side."

He helped her do that, which was good, because she hadn't intended to follow that order. She knew almost instantly, though, that she should have listened to him. That felt good too. She had never rubbed her breasts against a man, while arms of steel were around her.

"Gooood," he said, drawing it out. "Now, get another deep breath, cause that's going to soak up a bunch of tension. Hold it ... let it work ... now blow it out. Push that tension out with it."

This was the stupidest thing she'd ever heard in her life, but, as she pursed her lips, and blew through them, she did feel better ... more relaxed. His arms grew less like iron. He was letting her go. He stepped back.

"Your breasts feel good," he said. "I like your breasts." He smiled, like he'd only said, "I like that shirt."

Amanda didn't know what to make of him. What man just came right out and said, "Nice breasts, Amanda. I really like them."?

It had felt good, though. And she did feel more relaxed. Her stomach didn't hurt any more. The tape was in. She glanced at the clock. It was ten minutes after one. That was going to screw things up, because she'd have to remember to change the tape at ten after two, instead of two on the dot.

"You're frowning," he said. "You're getting tense again too."

She looked at him. He was right again. She could feel the dull ache coming back to her stomach. On impulse, she told him why she was frowning.

"It's only ten minutes," he said. "I'll help you remember. Or, just start the next tape before the one that's in there runs out. Start tape number three at when it's two o'clock."

Again, he had thought of a solution that she hadn't. He had such a way of cutting through all the confusion.

"Now, come have another doughnut, and let me rub your shoulders."

She did. The doughnut was as good as the last one, though not warm any more. The chocolate milk had warmed up, ironically, but she decided she didn't care. It was good too. She let herself be led to the receptionists straight-backed chair, and sank into it. His hands came to her shoulders, and she almost moaned as his strong fingers squeezed, and rubbed. It was almost painful, and yet, it felt divine.

"Let your neck muscles relax," he said softly.

Her head lolled forward, but that made it hard to breathe. She tried letting it fall to the side, but that stretched the muscles on the side away from her head, and that hurt too. She became aware that the chair wasn't comfortable. How in the world could Cindy sit in this thing all day long?

"This isn't working," he said. "Is there a bed anywhere around here?"

"No." Her voice was dull. What he was doing felt so good!

"Be right back," he said.

When he left, she felt alone again. She looked over to see him in her office, taking the cushions off the couch, and laying them out on the floor in a row.

"Come in here," he called.

She did, and lay down on the cushions. Her shoulders hung over the edges, and her arms fell to the floor, which felt odd, but wasn't really uncomfortable.

He got down on his knees and started working on her again.

Within ten minutes, she thought she might die from the pleasure of it. He seemed to know where every tight muscle was. When his hands worked on her butt, she didn't even flinch, even though it was the first time a man had touched her there in as long as she could remember.

"That's better," he said. His voice was as soft as his hands ... when they weren't pushing a thumb clear through her body. That's what it felt like sometimes. She squealed with the pain of it several times, but never complained, because it always felt SO much better when he was done with that part.

"This would be better with warm oil, and if you were naked," he said, casually. "Tomorrow night, why don't you leave your bra off. At least I can get your back without running into it then."

She thought that over. He'd said it would be better if she were naked ... just the kind of thing a man would say ... but he hadn't tried to get her to get naked. Not only that, he'd suggested that, when he did this to her tomorrow night, she wouldn't have to be naked either. She realized he'd only given her information ... not a suggestion.

And the part about the bra ... she'd felt him have to skip over it, and she knew he was right about that. When his hands slid, they created heat. If he could slide all the way up her back, she knew it would feel better. So, she reasoned, he wasn't just trying to get her to go braless.

"I don't go braless," she gasped, as his fingers dug into her lower back. "My breasts are too big." She groaned again as he bore down with what felt like the heel of his hand. "They'd bounce all over the place."

"And that's a bad thing?" he asked, his voice light. "I'd love to see that."

"I bet you would," she said, automatically.

"Do your nipples get stiff, when you're excited?" he asked, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to ask a woman.

"I don't know," she said, which was true. She whipped her clit into shape each night, and went to sleep. She didn't look at her breasts while she did it.

"Well, then," he said. "We'll just have to find out now ... won't we?"

She didn't know what to think of that either. He seemed so casual about it ... so easy ... like it was just something to talk about.

"Not now," she said "This feels too good."

"Good," he said.

She didn't know how long he kept going, but eventually, his movements changed. He used his fingernails to scratch, as if she had asked him to scratch a special spot, that itched. He went fast, and it just felt so fabulous that she wanted to moan with the joy of it. He did that everywhere, even her butt, and then changed again, to strokes. He slid his hands all over her back, and butt, and legs too.

It was so soothing. It felt so good. Her eyes closed. He kept going.

She slept.

It wasn't the deep sleep it would have been if she'd have been on a real bed. It was more of a two hour nap. She was unaware of that, of course, until she woke, a puddle of drool on the cushion under her face.

She remembered everything, as if it had just happened. She moved, tentatively, expecting there to be pain from bruised and battered muscles. There was none, and she felt good, instead. She sensed that he wasn't in the room. Then she realized she had slept.

She jumped up and looked through the glass surrounding her office, at the wall clock in the sound booth. It was three-fifty. She had slept through two tape changes! With a moan of frustration, she started for the booth, and then heard the box, playing a tune by The Dorseys.

She entered the booth, and saw Bobby's feet, sticking out from under the desk. She looked at the tape player. It had four tape cartridges in the four slots. They only used the top slot, because it was the only one that worked.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

He wiggled out from under the desk. There was dust in his hair.

"Well," he said. "You were resting, so I changed the tapes for you. Then I got bored, so I started looking around. I found the manual for that tape machine, and it said you could load all four slots and have them trip, so that when one ended, the other would start automatically. I tried that at three, but it didn't work."

"No," she said. "The bottom three slots don't work."

"They do now," he said. "At least I think they do. The manual said that you had to have things connected a certain way. Actually, it's kind of fascinating. You can wire this thing four different ways." He grinned. "Anyway, I got to looking around, and saw that it was wired so that only the top slot worked. Whoever installed this thing robbed you guys of a lot of function."

She stared at him. "You fixed our tape player?"

"I'm pretty sure I did. We'll find out in ..." he looked up at the clock. "seven minutes."

"You can't go changing stuff, Bobby!" she said, angst bubbling up in her body. "What if you screwed it all up?"

"All I did was do what the manual said to do, if you want to use all four channels," he said. "The wires were there ... they just weren't hooked up. I didn't break anything. I just hooked it up."

"But ..." She stopped. It was too late to do anything about it now. And, she was there. All she had to do was take the tape out of the slot and slam another one in, if what he'd done didn't work. She was sure it wouldn't. This stuff was all very technical. They had to hire special people to work on it, whenever anything went wrong.

She waited, on pins and needles. She went to the cabinet and got another tape, just in case. She watched the little green light on one side of the tape that was in the top slot. It would change to red when the tape hit the end.

The sound faded from the box, and the light went red. She leaned forward and, in amazement, watched the green light come on next to the tape in slot number two. Benny Goodman's clarinet started crooning from the box.

"It worked," said Bobby, like a little kid who had fixed something. "Cool."

She looked at him, with his blue eyes, and the dust in his black hair. In two hours, he'd figured something out that none of the DJs had figured out in ten years.

"You're all tense again," he said, sounding sorrowful. "Do you need another hug?"

"I think I do," she said, putting down the tape she hadn't had to use.

She was ready for this hug, and liked it. He might be a strange man, but he was very interesting, and very talented, and he could give really good hugs. He didn't have to tell her to rub her breasts against him this time, and it occurred to her that it would feel even better than it did if she weren't wearing a bra.

"Hey," he said.

She lifted her head from where she had laid it on his chest.

"How about a kiss too?" he asked.

If he'd given her time to answer, she probably would have said "no". But he didn't. He just kissed her. The hug, and the kiss combined, made things move in her that had been rusted into place for quite some time. They seemed to almost hurt, as they ground into hesitant movement again, and the memory of warm lips on hers skulked back into her mind. She let that kiss go on ... and on ... and on some more, her body remembering how much fun this was. His hands simply stroked her back, like they had when he hugged her, and she felt his hands hitting her bra strap, and changed her mind. She would leave her bra off tomorrow night.

In fact, she could take it off right now. She felt delicious tremors shoot through her body at the thought. She'd have to take her blouse off ... he'd see her upper body naked ... but he'd touch her.

She pushed away.

"I can take my bra off right now," she panted.

"I like kissing you," he said. "Let's wait on that until tomorrow."

"But I feel so ... I want to ... you can't do this to me," she moaned.

"I'm not doing anything to you," he said. "Except for reducing your stress level a little. Kiss me again."

She did, and she was quite sure she felt her stress level rise, instead of falling. She pushed him away again.

"I'm so hot," she complained. "You're making me feel so hot and wiggly inside!"

"You think you need an orgasm, don't you," Bobby said softly.

"Yes!" she moaned. "I'm not supposed to have to ask for it, though. I hired you! You have to help me!"

He pulled her back to her office. She expected him to strip, then strip her, and make love to her on the cushions on the floor. He picked them up, instead, and put them back on the couch. She had her blouse half unbuttoned when he was done, and turned around. He reached and stopped her fingers.

"You're always in such a hurry," he said. "You're always anxious to do something. It's part of why you're so tense all the time. You hired me. Fine. Let me do my job."

"But I'm going crazy!" she yelled.

He pulled her down to the couch, putting her back against the back of the couch, and lying between her and the front. It pressed her into the couch, and both of them were on their sides.

"Kiss me, and I'll give you some relief," he said.

The promise brought her lips to his, and she kissed him like she'd known him for months, instead of hours. It felt so natural, all of a sudden, that, when his tongue searched for entry, she just let it, and returned the favor. His hand slid up and down her side, again and again, coming to the side of her bra, and then down to round over her hip. Their argument had calmed the fires in her, despite her cry that she was going crazy, and she concentrated on the feel of his lips, and his hand. It was really nice, in a way that made her feel like he really did like doing this. He wasn't doing it just because she was paying him. He liked kissing her. It made her feel good. She felt the tension going out of her body, little by little.

They made out, basically, for ten minutes, changing from one kind of kiss to another, frequently, just having fun. He pulled his face back from hers.

"That's better," he said, his voice soothing. "Now, I'm going to do something for you. It will feel good, but I want you not to get excited. I want you to keep your cool, and talk to me, while I do this. Okay?"

"What?" she panted softly.

He didn't tell her. He just did it. His hand slid off her hip, down below where her skirt was, and back up her bare legs, between them. As she sucked in air, his hand went up, found the waistband of her panties, and dipped down into them. His fingers played with her thick curls as she automatically lifted her upper leg, to give him room.

"Think!" he ordered. "Think about what you like. Do you like this?"

His fingers swirled in her pussy hair, moving it, and making the skin under it move too.

"Yes," she gasped. She moved her hips, trying to get her pussy up, where his fingers were.

"Stop that," he said. "I'll get there. Feel this first. Find the spot that likes this the most."

"I don't understand," she panted.

"Do you like this?" he asked, moving his fingers to stroke below her pussy, pushing the gusset of her panties away from where she wanted to be touched.

"No," she said. "I want you to touch me higher."

"How about this?" He pressed three fingers together, and dragged them up and over her pussy lips. Her hips jerked as he didn't quite hit her clit.

"Uh huh," she said. "But it's not enough."

He did it again, just sliding his three stiff fingers up and down her slit. He rubbed them in a circle, like she did, but with three fingers instead of two. It felt different. It was good ... nice. The potential for really good was there, but it was more like smelling food, before you tasted it.

"I like that," she said. "But it's not enough."

His middle finger, on the way down, suddenly bent and slipped into her. He wiggled it around, not putting any pressure on her clit at all.

"And this?" he asked, pushing his finger deep.

"Uhhhhhh," she gasped. She'd forgotten what it felt like to have something in her. He felt thick. Her pussy liked this.

"Uh huh ... uh huh," she grunted, moving her hips again.

He started moving his finger out, and then back in, fingerfucking her very slowly. He pushed the tip of his finger in different directions, as he did it.

"Ohhhh," she moaned. "I'm so close. You haven't touched the right spot yet. Please touch the right spot."

"All right," said Bobby. He altered the angle of his palm, and let the base of his middle finger hit her clit. He gripped her pelvic bone, basically, squeezing his bent finger, and pulling. Then he moved his hand in circles.

She went off immediately. It was very close to what she did herself, but had a vastly different feel, with the vaginal stimulation added to the clitoral stimulation she was used to. It wasn't a "strong" orgasm, in the sense that it didn't make her feel like screaming. She didn't feel like she was flying apart, or going to explode. It just felt good in a ten-times-as-good way, by comparison to what she felt when she did it herself. It was a deeper-in-her-body kind of feeling, rather than the shallow thing, right there at her clit - but only at her clit kind of thing she was used to.

The relief was so strong, that it calmed her, instead of making her excited.

"Ohhh yeah," she sighed, pushing her hips at his hand. "Ohhh fuck that feels so good." She kept saying that, as the orgasm seemed to last much much longer than her usual ones did. "Ohhhh, Bobby I could feel this for hours," she moaned.

He kissed her, and she kissed him back, not frantically, but in thanks, for what she was feeling. He pulled back, his hand still moving.

"Tell me when you're done," he said. "I don't want to make you sore."

"I wish we were naked," she moaned. She couldn't tell if she was having an orgasm, any more, or if it just felt completely wonderful. She didn't care. She just wanted it to go on, whatever it was.

"We can be naked later," he said. "Right now, just feel this, and relax."

"Ohhh kiss me again," she sighed.

She never told him to stop, but he started going slower and slower. The base of his finger still rubbed over her clit, but less often. Eventually, he began sliding his finger out of her, a little at a time, until suddenly, his three stiff fingers, welded together, were rubbing up and down her slit again, like when he had started.

He did everything in reverse from there, too. His fingers rose to play in her hair, and then slid out of her panties, to slide down her thigh, and come up onto her hip, and then up her side, while he kissed her.

He pulled back and she stared into his blue eyes. He dipped his head, to kiss the exposed skin, where she had unbuttoned her blouse. Her eyes strayed past him, to the clock on the wall. It was one minute until five. She needed to change the tape. As she watched, the minute hand clicked forward. She heard the box go silent, and tensed, preparing to push him away. The box began playing a song by the Harry Archer Orchestra, and she remembered that the other slots worked now. It had worked ... again ... automatically, like he had said it would. The tape in slot number three was playing now.

She suddenly felt hemmed in by him. They had been lying on the couch, kissing, for most of a whole hour. She couldn't believe it. Of course he'd also touched her ... made her feel wonderful ... given her what she thought was the best orgasm she'd ever had. But it had taken an hour! She liked it. She was glad it happened. But it was done. Like she did when she finished at night, and then went to sleep, her impulse was to go on with something else now. They were done ... right?

"We only have an hour before the morning crew will be coming in," she said. "Obviously, they can't find us like this."

"Of course," he said, rolling backwards to fall off the couch with a thud. She leaned over to make sure he was all right. He didn't seem disturbed at all, and just got up. She got up too, and it was while she was doing that that she realized she felt like she'd had a whole night's sleep. She felt strong, and confident ... ready to take on the world. She should be tired, and irritable. She'd only had a short nap, after taking care of her father, the evening before. She'd worked all day, and then come back to work at night. But she felt wonderful. She wasn't even sure she'd be able to go to sleep when she got home, this morning.

She started cleaning things up, putting away tapes, and straightening her office. It was busy work, really. Bobby had found another manual somewhere, and was reading it, his brow furrowed. She looked at the front, but all that was there was "MODEL RW-765 INTEGRATED BOARD" and she had no idea what that even was. She brewed coffee again, so it would be fresh when the morning people came in. Then she realized that it was Sunday, and that only Adrian would be coming. He would play pre-programmed material until the live feed from the Methodist Church came in, and monitor that until it was time for more hymns, the noon news, and then that afternoon programming that Rodney had already identified.

She was reflecting on how relaxed she felt, when Adrian entered the station and looked around. He saw Amanda in her office and waved, then looked to see Bobby sitting in the sound booth, still reading the manual. As they watched, he reached out, as if to push a button on the console in front of him. The box droned on, playing the same tune it had, so whatever he had done hadn't gone out over the air.

Adrian stuck his head in the door.

"Who's he?" he asked. "I saw his car in the lot. Did you hire somebody to cover nights?"

"No," said Amanda, wondering how she was going to explain Bobby. "He's a consultant." She remembered how he'd figured out what was wrong with the multiple slot tape player. "He's going over some of the equipment, looking for glitches. He got all the slots on the tape player working."

"You're kidding," said Adrian. "That's great! That lets me do four hours of programming without having to change tapes."

"Yes," said Amanda. "He'll be around for a while. I don't know how long, yet."

"So he's a technical guy?" asked Adrian. That was what they called the people who came in and repaired the electronic equipment in the station.

"No," said Amanda, knowing Bobby could never pull off impersonating a technical representative. "Not in the sense you're thinking. He does understand some of that stuff, but that's not why I hired him."

"So," said Adrian, who was young, was going to college, and spent only ten hours in the station each week, "what did you hire him for?"

"I'm reviewing the stats, procedures and programming with him," said Amanda, trying to think of something vague.

"Are we going to modernize?" asked Adrian, hope beaming from his face.

Before this morning, Amanda's immediate response would have been "No!" What came out of her mouth was "Maybe ... we'll see." She immediately wondered where that had come from. She had no intention of changing the format of the station. Bobby was just there to take care of something personal. He wasn't there for the station at all. But she couldn't just tell Adrian that she'd needed to get laid, and had hired Bobby for that. As she stood, feeling relaxed, it occurred to her that she hadn't gotten laid. She'd hired a gigolo - she still didn't know for how much - and, while she felt pretty good right now ... she hadn't gotten laid. This was all very confusing. She was going to have to call Felicity and get some additional information on how to deal with a man like this.

Bobby looked up, saw Adrian, smiled, and stood up. He closed the manual, tossed it in a drawer, and came out of the booth. Other than saying "Hi" to Adrian, he ignored him.

"So," he said. "This was interesting. I'll see you tonight."

"Of course," she said, trying to sound brusque and businesslike.

Without another word, Bobby picked up his backpack, slung it over a shoulder, and walked out to the parking lot. Adrian watched him go, looking confused. The consultant carried a backpack? He was dressed in faded jeans and an old work shirt? What the heck kind of consultant was he? Adrian had dreams of owning his own consulting business some day, making the big bucks, working whenever he felt like it. He hadn't envisioned it being quite that casual. He looked at his boss, who was staring out at the man with a puzzled look on her face.

"He fixed the machine?" he asked, not sure that he'd heard her correctly.

She snapped out of whatever she was thinking about.

"Yes," she said. "Come on ... I'll show you."

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