In the left frame, I'm posting Doc's Place, one of my copyrighted stories. I'll post a part of a chapter, wait for a while so people may leave comments or questions and then post those I find interesting.

Looks like Chen Mei agrees with Les on the current Doc's Place executives' intentions.

Smart guy, Les. Hey Marcus, have you ever heard of the management techniques Jill thinks that Louise is using in this segment? This sounds similar to martial arts training.

I certainly have, Carlo. Specifically, these techniques target three situations: negotiating over long periods, managing crisis and coping with stress. The pause gives the manager time to collect her thoughts; get her cool back if she's about to lose it or has already lost it; and time to plan the next few steps.

The pause encourages the subordinate to rave on and eventually run out of steam. The technique actually states that the subordinate will eventually begin to feel a little unnerved at the enigmatic silence, falter and stop. Of course, since Jill has studied the technique, she turns the tables on Louise, who ends up getting unnerved. Elsewhere, management techniques recommend transference of lessons from martial arts training to crisis and stressful situations as one coping mechanism.

If I may add a personal observation to Marcus' review, Louise is probably in counseling for other emotional problems at the time of this telephone conversation. One reason for her pausing is that she may be on a prescription drug that helps her manage stress by mellowing her out a little.

We wondered about that. Jill said that Louise had told her about getting sleep therapy. Apparently Louise didn't think it was working either. Why is Louise under so much stress anyway?

Only theories there. No hard evidence.

We'll have more information about Louise in time. One thing we have learned in this group is to be patient and wait for the story to come to us, right Benny?

Right. Back to this exchange over the phone between Jill and Louise, this is so typical of Jill. She uses patience, waiting and silence effectively and she does it a lot. I've noticed that if people are in a conversation with Jill, whether it's in the left frame or this frame, and Jill gets silent while the others keep going on, it usually means the other people are getting themselves deeper into trouble. It happened to Les last time and he knocked himself right out the group in the process.

How old are you, Benny? Aren't you 12?

Yeah, what's that got to do with anything?

That's pretty advanced thinking for frickin' 12yr old.

You'll get used to it, man. Benny's a genius.

Guess I'd better go back and read the previous posts more carefully.

Do you mind if I ask a personal question, Stephanie?

I've been waiting for it, girl. You want to know if I've already got the hots for Jill, don't you?

I should have asked it last session but I've been thinking about the brief chat you had with Jill in that last part.

That's why I told her after she signed the contract in Reno that I'd arrange something for us later. It's also why I keep butterin' her up. Didn't realize that all I had to do was fly up there, invite her over and she'd have come. At the time though, I'd never been with a woman so I had no idea what to do. Plus I was still young.

If you don't mind my asking, what was the attraction?

I don't mind. In fact, quite the opposite, I love being the center of attention. I'd mind if you don't ask me questions about my dalliance with Jill. Anyway, it wasn't physical; it was her wild magnetism. When Jill Price walks into a room, your temperature goes up, your pussy starts itching and you can feel yourself blushing because she just looks at you as if she wants you. It's the most naked aggression I've ever experienced in a woman. Would you like me to tell you a story about the first time we met?

Absolutely.

The guy Louise had hired before Jill couldn't even spell let alone write so Peter had commissioned a professor at the university in Las Vegas to produce an editing test. The professor had told Peter 30 minutes tops then pull it and compare her edits to his. George told Peter that he had handed it to Jill and began timing her. Less than one minute later, Jill hands it back. George tells Peter that he asked Jill if she wanted to check her work. Do you know what she did? She asks, "Didn't they tell you to bring it in immediately, George?" When he says yes, Jill says, "Then go now, please. You're making me look bad by standing here bullshitting." George tells Peter her words verbatim.

Peter sends George back with a stack of glossy Doc's Talks magazines for Jill to review. Guess what Jill tells George.

She tells him no.

That's right. When George asks her why, she says, "I charge sixty bucks an hour to consult—in advance. We have less than twenty minutes. Twenty bucks isn't worth my effort. Tell Mr. Marriott that." George tells this to Peter and Peter dismisses him. Peter tells me to keep her waiting until precisely 3:12 p.m. and then bring her in, introduce her and close the door.

Well, I walk out, sit at the desk and reach for some papers in my valise. When I look up, I jump, startled, because Jill is standing beside me. She says "Hello."

I stand slowly, trying to regain my composure and get control of the situation. Being seated can be a position of power but it works only if the supplicant behaves herself. Smiling, I say, "Mr. Marriott will see you in a moment, Ms. Price. Would you. . . ." Jill sits on the edge of her desk, listening attentively, so I change it to, "Would you like a glass of water or perhaps coffee?"

"Thank you, no," she says. "Please call me Jill."

I look at my papers and begin to say, "Well, I have. . . ."

Without warning, Jill asks, "Do blonde jokes piss you off?"

I blink at her and sit down, because pretending that I can recover control is only making me appear stupid. "It depends," I say.

Frowning, she asks, "On what? Who tells the joke?"

"Sometimes," I say. "Sometimes it's the context."

"So blonde jokes do piss you off."

"Yes."

"Of course, some are more offensive than others," I tell her, "Like the ones that start with a naked blonde or a blonde with big tits walking into a bar."

Now, when Jill mentions the words naked and tits, for some reason, I stare into her eyes. I don't remember very well, but I think I wanted to try one more time to get control. Instead, I see these eyes, like a predatory animal's, looking at me. I look at her, utterly captivated, utterly mesmerized by the powerful force she radiates. After a moment, I honestly thought she was going to tell her favorite blonde joke.

Instead, she says, "Sometimes you just have to take it because the jokester is your boss."

Summoning my courage and without flinching or averting my eyes, I raise my eyebrows and say, "Usually I just laugh."

Leaning close to me, Jill asks, "What's your name?"

Now, I've been close to women, intimidating, powerful women before, but no one has ever affected me like this. Barely able to think, I whisper, "Stephanie."

Jill, in a soft voice, asks, "How long ago did Louise leave the office by another door, Stephanie?"

I glance at the clock—2:52 p.m.—and say, "She left two minutes ago." "How many minutes past three did he tell you to wait before admitting me?"

"Twelve," I say. Now I know what you're going to say. I should not have told her that. In fact, I really shouldn't have been talking to her at all, but, my God, the woman was so close and so . . . powerful that I couldn't stop myself.

Still speaking softly, Jill asks, "Will it cost you your job or just a few blonde jokes to admit me five minutes early?"

"The latter," I say, "but why would I do that, Jill?" You see, at that point, I realize that things have gone far enough. What she was proposing was that I disobey a direct order, and I knew I was not going to do that.

But then she says, "Because I'm going to beat him," and she pauses for a half breath and then adds, "at his own game."

Oh my God, Maria, at that moment, I want her to touch me. In fact, I imagine her just caressing the very top of my breasts with her fingertips. I swear to God, I feel my mouth open slightly and my chest rise and fall with the beat of my heart. Not only that, but I could picture her walking into that office as I close the door, snarling and jumping the length of the room to land on him and rip the living shit out of my boss, Peter Marriott. Can you imagine a trained executive assistant with a business degree from USC picturing that? Barely able to breathe, I ask, "Beat him?"

"Yes," she says with a hint of a smile, "severe bruises to his ego."

Suddenly, I imagine walking into that office and seeing Peter Marriott lying on the floor, his perfect suit and immaculate white shirt in tatters, with bruises all over his body. I swear to you that I can almost feel tears of fear and, yes, bloodlust in my eyes when I ask in a whisper, "Severe bruises?"

Narrowing her eyes, Jill, who remember has her face an inch from mine, whispers, "No one will detect them except you or his wife."

This I have to see, but how will I be able to tell? Glancing at the clock—2:54 p.m.—I ask, "How will I know you . . . he is really bruised?"

"Drastic change in conduct," says Jill, "especially toward women. He'll begin to encourage assertive behavior."

That does it. Before I know it, I'm standing and she is suddenly standing too. All of a sudden, this woman is standing toe to toe with me, staring into my eyes. "Mr. Marriott will see you now. This way, please," I say, leading Jill to the door. The rest, as they say, is history.

Stephanie, have you embellished that just a little, perhaps to get another interview on another late-night talk show?

Perhaps a bit, but I swear that everything I told you is true. The whole experience was scary and thrilling at the same time.

From guys' eye sockets, quite please sing yes yes.