The last one had been because of her brother, Rudy Dayton, he recalled. Lola felt that Andy should use his influence with old Foster, the head of the station, to get Rudy a job. Well, Andy wasn't about to compromise his own good standing with the company president, just to get a job for that good-for-nothing loafer. That wasn't how he'd put it to Lola, of course, but Lola had caught the undertones and had pouted for two weeks about it. That had been a month ago, and Andy doubted that it could be the same reason this time, although he wouldn't put anything past his beautiful, headstrong wife.

Andy finally removed the makeup, put the horn-rimmed glasses back over his eyes, then rinsed cold water over his hands. Christ, sometimes it seemed like a dream that Lola Dayton had ever really let him make love to her. The forty-four year old newscaster's dormant cock stirred and lurched as the memory of the first time washed over him, and in all its intensity it seemed as if it had been only yesterday… not a year ago.

She was new as the weather girl then, and within that first week she had already been invited out by every male at the station. Andy, too, had had his eye on the curvaceous personality-plus blonde ever since he first saw her, and his instincts told him she'd date him if he asked. At the end of her first week, he invited her to see a new play down in Albany, then took her out to a well-known French restaurant where they'd sat for hours lingering over brandy. Then he'd driven her back to her apartment in suburban Schenectady, his hand on her knee all the way back. The electricity between them had been unmistakable, and Andy could still remember the excitement of driving that night with his cock stiff as a ram-rod, while his fingers made electrical contact with the long sleek smoothness of the young girl's stockinged leg.

Lola had sat low in the bucket seat of his new Mustang, her eyes closed, head back, lips slightly parted as she hummed a little in tune to the music on the tape deck.