Free Long White Con: The Biggest Score of His Life by Iceberg Slim

about your aristocratic self.”
    She chewed her bottom lip. “Johnny, until Victoria, my mother, became ill, my life in my memory has always been a cliché, poor little rich girl existence, dangling on a dominating, possessive maternalstring. With Victoria’s guidance I accepted the challenge of managing the family’s business affairs. My new responsibilities have given me at least the chance to escape vegetation and the means to hold at bay the drooling cabal of alleged men who hounded me around the clock. But now I’m suffering from emotional dehydration. Johnny, I need a man I want. I want to be happy, to be fulfilled. I’m an executive by necessity. But, I’m first a woman. Oh Johnny, I’m so lonely!”
    He said, “I’m lonely, too.”
    She said, “Is that why you and that black woman had dinner together the other night?”
    He said, “Not exactly. She’s just a friend. I’m able to advise her on certain business problems thanks to a degree in business administration. I know her family.”
    Christina sighed, “I’m relieved to hear that, Johnny.”
    He said, “Why?”
    She said, “Because Latins and blacks are notorious for low boiling points, especially when their romantic links are snarled by white women. I’m strongly attracted to you Johnny, but I wouldn’t be thrilled at the prospect of mayhem or worse as a result of whatever territoriality I might enjoy with you. To say nothing of the scandal! Johnny, do you have any serious affair going?”
    He decided to swing the gate wide. “Why, no. I like it that way. Please don’t plan to get me into trouble.”
    She laughed, “You can’t be unaware that I already have.”
    They lit cigarettes.
    She said, “Where do you live, Johnny?”
    He said, “On the west side. I share an apartment with Speedy, your chief of security, and his girl.”
    She said, “When should I call you to catch you in an emergency? Such as I just have to hear the sound of your voice.”
    He knew that Speedy’s girl, Janie, was in L.A. for a couple of weeks. And Speedy seldom left for the Buckmeister place until four P.M. He said, “Before four on weekdays.”
    She said, “Fine, I have the number.” She stroked her fingertips across his inner thigh, “Let’s go inside. I’ll buy you a drink.”
    His cue, he thought, to prat her out, block her away from the erotic payoff in the sure shot tradition of the con. The cinch way to hype up her passion and desire for him, to lower the odds in his favor for his total conquest of her.
    He glanced at his watch, kissed her and said, “I’m afraid I’m very late for that business appointment I was on my way to keep when you picked me up. Darling, I’m so sorry we can’t explore our . . . uh, intimate possibilities in the unhurried way I think we should. Let’s make a date to meet on this spot.”
    She moved beneath the wheel, started the car and said peevishly, “All right, Johnny. When?”
    He enjoyed an interior smirk as he thought about the way Camille Costain had pratted him out to wildly palpitate him with the yen to sex her. “Johnny, let me miss you until I’m bursting inside,” she purred. “Let’s wait until we can make love to the music of a rainstorm.”
    Folks said, “Christina, let’s rush here to meet the very next time it rains, at its first fall. Think of the sweet mystique of it, darling, lying in soft shadows wrapped in the heady drama of a rainstorm, even salutes of thunder, with a light show of lightning.”
    She kissed him hungrily and exclaimed, “It’s a dynamite idea, Johnny!” She turned the car around and as she drove down the road, she said, “I’ll miss you . . . where should I drop you?”
    He answered, “The Marriott.”
    They were practically silent all the way downtown. He kissed her, got out in front of the hotel, paused at the driver’s side.
    She said, “Goodnight Johnny. I hope it you-know-what’s soon, otherwise I’ll have to hire a squadron of aircraft to seed the