“Mother—what are you doing?”
“Saving money,” Mary informed her loftily. “The laundry charges a fortune.”
“What if the President walked in? How would it look? He’d think we were Okies.”
“The President’s not going to walk in. And close the bathroom door, please. You’re wasting money.”
Okies, indeed! If the President walked in and saw what she was doing, he would be proud of her. She would show him the hotel laundry list and let him see how much she was saving by using a little Yankee ingenuity. He would be impressed. “If more people in government had your imagination, Madam Ambassador, the economy of this country would be in a lot better shape than it is. We’ve lost the pioneering spirit that made this country great. Our people have gotten soft. We rely too much on time-saving electrical appliances and not enough on ourselves. I would like to use you as a shining example to some of the spendthrifts in Washington who think this country is made of money. You could teach them all a lesson. As a matter of fact, I have a wonderful idea. Mary Ashley, I’m going to make you secretary of the treasury.”
Steam was seeping out from under the bathroom door. Dreamily, Mary opened it. A cloud of steam poured into the living room.
There was the sound of the doorbell and Beth said, “Mother, James Stickley is here to see you.”
15
“The whole thing gets weirder and weirder,” Ben Cohn said. He was sitting up in bed, nude, his young mistress, Akiko Hadaka, at his side. They were watching Mary Ashley on Meet the Press.
The new ambassador to Romania was saying, “I believe that mainland China is heading for a more humane, individualistic Communist society with its incorporation of Hong Kong and Macao.”
“Now what the fuck does that lady know about China?” Ben Cohn muttered. He turned to Akiko. “You’re looking at a housewife from Kansas who’s become an expert on everything overnight.”
“She seems very bright,” Akiko said.
“Bright is beside the point. Every time she gives an interview, the reporters go crazy. It’s like a feeding frenzy. How did she get on Meet the Press? I’ll tell you how. Someone decided that Mary Ashley was going to be a celebrity. Who? Why? Charles Lindbergh never had a buildup like this.”
“Who’s Charles Lindbergh?”
Ben Cohn sighed. “That’s the problem with the generation gap. There’s no communication.”
Akiko said softly, “There are other ways to communicate.”
She gently pushed him down on the bed and moved on top of him. She worked her Way down his body, flicking her long, silken hair across his chest and his stomach and his groin, watching him grow hard. She stroked him and said, “Hello, Arthur.”
“Arthur wants to get inside you.”
“Not yet. I’ll be back to him.”
She rose and padded off to the kitchen. Ben Cohn watched her as she moved out of the room. He looked at the television set and thought: That lady gives me shpilkes. There’s a hell of a lot less there than meets the eye, and I’m damned well going to find out what it is.
“Akiko!” he shouted. “What’re you doing? Arthur’s falling asleep.”
“Tell him to wait up,” she called. “I’ll be right there.”
A few minutes later she returned, carrying a dish filled with ice cream, whipped cream, and a cherry.
“For God’s sake,” he said. “I’m not hungry. I’m horny.”
“Lie back.” She put a towel under him, took the ice cream from the dish, and started spreading it around his testicles.
He yelled, “Hey! That’s cold.”
“Sh!” Akiko put the whipped cream over the ice cream and then put his penis in her mouth until it became turgid.
“Oh, my God,” Ben moaned. “Don’t stop.”
Akiko put the cherry on top of his now rigid penis. “I love banana splits,” she whispered.
And as she began to eat it, Ben felt an incredible mixture of sensations, all of them wonderful. When he could stand it no longer, he rolled Akiko over and plunged inside her.
On the television set Mary Ashley was saying, “One of the best ways to prevent war with countries opposed to the American ideology is to increase our trade with them…”