Space for Sale

Chapter One

"I always thought billionaires spent their time having fun," James Williard said to Terry from the comfort of his two thousand dollar easy chair. He had plopped himself down in it immediately after returning from his office. He and Terry had bought in a very exclusive development northwest of Dallas, soon after the legal problems of old Don Falino's estate had been cleared up. Jason Williard's girlfriend, Brandy Lindski, had helped immensely in the proceedings. She was even wealthier than they were after inheriting her former boss' vast financial empire, along with the power and influence it entailed.

"Which just goes to show we've never been rich," Terry replied, coming into the den after hearing Williard arrive.

Williard eyed his newly youthful girlfriend with her fine slender figure fairly exposed by a pair of shorts and a blouse with nothing beneath it. "Come give your lover-boy a smooch," he said, holding out his arms.

Terry Very came to him. She sat down on one of the chair's wide arms and began massaging Williard's neck after giving him an appropriate greeting. "Poor baby. He had to spend two whole hours at the office. I feel so sorry for him."

Williard glanced up at Terry's pretty face framed by auburn-colored hair tumbling in waves to her shoulders. A sprinkling of freckles crossed her nose. Williard thought they were attractive; Terry didn't.

"Here I've been slaving over a hot secretary for hours and I come home and get no sympathy. It ain't fair."

"What did you say you've been slaving over, big boy?"

Williard blinked. "Oh. Did I say secretary? I meant desk."

"I'll bet. I've seen that pneumatic blond airhead you hired. Are they real?"

Williard gave her one of his lazy, cynical, little-boy grins, the kind that had first attracted her to him right after the war. "I don't know yet, but I'll go back and check for you if you're so curious it can't wait 'til tomorrow."

Terry relented. "I'd rather you checked mine."

"Make us a drink and we'll do just that, sweet thing."

Terry slid off the chair arm, still amazed at how young she looked and felt after taking the long life drug that old Don Falino had developed, but died trying to use. She felt a shiver go through her body every time she remembered how close she and Williard and his two brothers had come to getting killed during those frantic weeks of searching for the key to the billions old Falino had left the Williards in his will, not even counting the long life drug. The brothers and she, with only a little other help, had fought a running battle with the Mafia, government goons, the Mexican Army and the minions of the shadowy Mr. H and his beautiful assistant for the money. What they hadn't known at the time was that Falino had developed a life-extending drug, then had the scientists killed through a posthumous order when he died after trying it. He had been too old for it to work on him.

Terry poured Williard's standard rum and coke and made one for herself. She paused for a moment to admire her image in the reflection of the big mirror behind the bar. The wrinkles and crows feet around her eyes had almost disappeared. Her skin and muscle tone had tightened and her breasts stood out proudly from her chest once again -- not that they had been that bad beforehand, she reflected, not for a woman in her fifties. But now she could easily pass for thirty -- and felt it.

Williard watched Terry as she returned from the bar with their drinks. Despite having money to burn now, she still favored old soft jeans or shorts and casual blouses, but she seldom wore a bra like she had before. She no longer needed one for anything she had to do around the house. He plucked the glass from her outstretched hand then tugged at her arm, inducing her to share the big chair with him by sitting in his lap. He took a big gulp from the glass, wiped his mustache and breathed a long sigh of contentment. Nothing satisfied like a good jolt of rum after a hard day's work correcting his secretary's tendency toward formality, which he hated, and her spelling, which she couldn't get right even with the spell checker. Well, almost nothing was as satisfying, he thought, as he turned his head. With Terry sitting in his lap, her breasts were just about at eye level.

"You know, babe, having a butler is okay I guess, but I still like having you bring the drinks."

Terry sipped from his glass then set it in the slot on the arm of the easy chair. "I have to do something with my time, Jim. Even flying my new plane gets kind of old when that's all you have to do."

"That's not all," Williard responded, wriggling his eyebrows.

"Sometimes I think that's all you and your brothers have on your minds, such as they are."

"We're smart enough to be sitting here alive while a whole hell of a lot of guys that got in our way are pushing up daisies," Williard reminded her.

"I know. The dinosaur and Bigfoot were bad enough, but I hope you don't try tackling the Mexican Army again for a while. They're still not very fond of us."

"Neither is the government, but fuck 'em if they can't take a joke. We've got so much money now they can't touch us. It's still hard to believe, isn't it?"

Terry gazed fondly at Williard. He looked not much different now than he had after coming home from Vietnam in the early seventies, with that lazy, infectious grin and his dark hair and mustache. Most of his gray hair and wrinkles were gone, though not completely. The life-extending drug worked better the younger a person was. He was the oldest of the brothers when he took a chance on it, the same chance that killed the elderly old Don and consigned the scientists who developed it to death for the failure.

"We've got the money now, that's for sure," Terry said. "But what are we going to do with the rest of our lives? There's no telling how long we may live now."

"Well, as much fun as it is, I can't see spending the rest of my life patting secretaries on the fanny. Why don't we take a trip, get away for a while?"

"Where to?"

"Let's go see Jason. He's the wild man of the family. He'll think of something."