Money, money, money. It’s all about the money, money, money. What, indeed, did Lance pan to do with all the money, money, money that Commonwealth would accrue.

He was just about to answer that trillion dollar question when Stephen’s phone interrupted. “Sorry, I have to take this,” the King of Horror apologized, walking to the door, and disappearing into the hallway.

Kitty decided to take some air on the balcony.

Once again proving that great writers have amazing powers of observation, Lance looked at Madonna and said, “He didn’t look at his screen,” and asked, “How did he know he had to take the call?”

“Very good, Lance. Great writers have amazing powers of observation. How’s your deductive reasoning?”

“Special ring tone. Reserved for friends in weird places.”

“Excellent. Special ring tone that gets through, even when the phone is switched to silent, and reserved exclusively for one very special friend in weird places.”

“Should I ask?”

“Ask what?”


“No point asking me.”

“Because you don’t know, or because you won’t say?”


“Good answer!”

“Thank you.”

Knowing he’d get no further with that line of inquiry, Lance opened another, “How well do you know Branson?”

Madonna hesitated, thinking.

“You have fond memories, obviously, but are you still… tight?”

“What makes you think I have fond memories of Richard?”

“Because great writers have amazing powers of observation,” Lance laughed. “Your eyes rolled up and to the right, which is a sign that you are accessing your memory banks. Your smile told the rest of the tale. Well, as much of it as I can know, without knowing anything.”

Madge was impressed. Again. The boy is good. Better than his father, and Stephen is no slouch. Maybe as good as Branson, and he was really good!

Checking to see if Kitty was still otherwise occupied out of earshot, Madonna grinned mischievously, and said, “Richard inducted me into the Mile High Club.”

“What’s that?”

Madge was delighted, “Oh! There are some things you don’t know.”

Smiling, Lance assured her, “Lots of things I don’t know. Care to enlighten me?”

“Oh, dear boy, I do!” There was no mistaking the fact that the sexagenarian was being saucy, and Lance grew aroused, and horrified, simultaneously. “Why don’t you search it? On Pornhub, not Google.”

The boy squirmed, which made Madonna giggle. Embarrassed, and not wanting to be humiliated, Lance did as he was told, after checking to make sure Kitty was still outside. She was, and she was laughing her ass off about something, so he clicked play, and watched, enthralled, while Madonna smiled and ran her rigt hand up and down her inner rigt thigh.

The boy took a quick look at the door, to make sure he father was not coming. Then he saw Madonna stroking her thigh. She stared straight into his eyes as she ran her fingers over her quivering mound, and flicked her tongue out of her mouth at him, just once.

Lance twitched. “You were on his private jet, I assume?”

“Oh, no. In a bathroom. On the maiden flight of Virgin Atlantic. London to New York, June 22, 1984. Hundreds of people aboard. No worries about being reprimanded when you own the airline.”

“And everyone was watching, as the two of you stepped inside, and locked the door.”

“And cheering, and popping champagne corks, when we staggered out, an hour later!”

“You guys have to hear this,” Kitty shouted, laughter spilling out of her mouth, as she came back in off the balcony. Lance quickly, and clumsily turned his phone off. Madonna gave herself one last tweak, before waving the same hand in the air, and saying, “Hello Kitty! What’s so funny?”




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