Long Night in a Hot Tub

By Jim Bowden

Long Night in a Hot Tub features a number of strong female characters. The plot centers on Diana Thornton, who has invented a virtual-reality device that is sought-after by a variety of entrepreneurs and charlatans. She invites a well-known author to live with her and chronicle her attempts to promote and market the device. He is intrigued and moves into the Thornton household, which he shares with Diana and her daughter, Starla. The story takes place in Los Angeles.
While not promoting her device and trying to raise venture capital, Diana has her hands full just trying to make ends meet. But she manages to keep the household running using various stratagems, and even hosts a “salon”, à la Gertrude Stein, on Saturday evenings. Poets and artists display their work, some of which is on the erotic side.
A friend, Colleen, goes on a drunken binge every so often, and that complicates things. She is a former prostitute turned artist who supports herself doing murals for health clubs and resorts. The author, Jefferson Fox, is quite taken by her—especially since she gives massages and likes to enjoy the hot tub sans suit.
However, Jeff is more seriously smitten by the Reichian psychologist, Karen, who attends the salons. However, she will have nothing to do with him unless he agrees to undergo her particular brand of therapy—to get beyond his stiff masculine ego. Reluctantly he agrees to subject himself to her ministrations.
Diana’s daughter, Starla, vacillates between two lovers, one a comedian with his own radio show and the other a soulful poet and would-be actor.
Diana herself has a boyfriend who lives in Chicago but plans to move to Los Angeles to be with her. During the story he is an occasional presence, quite discomfited by the presence of Jeff in the household.
Two supposed venture capitalists attempt to get Diana to sign her invention over to them, but she is skeptical of their bona fides; they claim to represent the Sultan of Brunei.
Meanwhile, a young “nymphette” (Nabokov’s term) who has a passion for writing also develops a passion for the resident author, despite the overtures she receives from a divorced and very horny computer programmer who is helping Diana with her virtual reality machine. The other women insist she needs to be introduced into the mysteries of sex and that Jeff is the ideal one to perform the act. He is reluctant, but finally succumbs.
The iconic scene is a night when all of the characters convene for a party and end up in the hot tub (a few at a time). It’s a night to remember.
In the denouément, everything is happily resolved.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jim Bowden
• Release date: Jul 5, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301040667

Jim Bowden

I love to write stories of romance, intrigue, and sexual titillation--having spent most of my life programming computers! Now, in between writing novels, I create short videos which are either weird or serious attempts to document the artists who share Sonoma with my wife and me. Please visit the website mentioned below.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Early Tuesday morning, the shrill chirping of the phone startled Jeff out of an exhausted sleep. He rolled on his side, curled up, and pulled the blankets over his head—knowing Diana would answer it in her bedroom or the machine would pick it up. The calls didn’t usually begin before nine. He’d have to remember to unplug the phone in his room after this.

A soft thud near his feet told him Sheba had come in and jumped on the bed, hungry as usual. Her loud purr vibrated through the blankets. He could resist that, but worse was in store for him.

Jeff! It was Diana’s voice, shouting loudly from her bedroom on the other side of the house.

Who is it? he shouted back.

Can you come in here? Right now?

He groaned. Coming.

His landlady was sitting up in bed, brown hair all in strings, tousled like Medusa’s snakes, face ghastly without makeup. Her silk pajama shirt, half unbuttoned, was twisted around her body. Jeff blinked at her, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He was having trouble remembering what an attractive woman she normally was.

Diana held the phone out to him, but when he went to take it she put it in her lap and let her breath out in a long sigh.

So who is it? he asked.

Colleen’s landlord. He wants us to come right over. He thinks she may be dead!

Jeff shook his head. It was definitely too early for things like this. Later, maybe, after coffee. You don’t think she’s really dead, do you?

I don’t know. The way she drinks...one of these days…. We’ve got to get over there! She picked up the phone again. We’ll be there in five minutes. Don’t do anything or call anybody till we get there. She threw the comforter off, swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and started to undo the remaining buttons on her pajama shirt. Jeff got the idea and went back to his room.

Sorry Sheba, but you’ll have to wait, he told the restless calico cat as he dressed. By now he was thoroughly awake, more aroused by Diana’s appearance than by concern over Colleen. His landlady had the body, if not the soul, of a volup¬tuary. He pulled on a sweatshirt and jeans, slipped into a pair of sandals, grabbed wallet and keys, and headed for the car. With the engine warming and the radio going he tried to remember the way to Colleen’s apartment building. He’d been there a few days earlier to see her artwork. Ever since he had moved into Diana Thornton’s guest room, people had been eager to make him feel at home by inviting him over.

The mellifluous voice on the radio said it was a beautiful Tuesday morning in April and the freeways were running smoothly. Smug bastard, Jeff thought sourly. From the rever¬ential tone of his voice you would have thought he was an¬nounc¬ing the Second Coming, rather than weather and traffic. Jeff fumed, waiting for Diana. It was chilly, he hadn’t had time to make coffee, and his new friend Colleen was probably in an alcoholic coma or worse. He hoped Diana would at least have the decency to skip the usual lengthy process of putting on her face. For a moment he considered leaving without her.

Colleen’s place was only a few blocks away, near enough for her to bicycle over to the Thornton house to visit and enjoy the hot tub. She’s probably okay, Jeff said hopefully as they finally got underway. Didn’t you say she goes on a binge every month or two?

His passenger just stared ahead, tight-lipped, obviously in no mood for small talk. She had daubed a little color on her cheeks, which just accentuated their pallor. These past few months had been frantic ones, friends had said, and she was starting to show the strain.

The landlord, a weathered man in blue-jeans, greeted them with a long face. As they climbed the stairs he explained what had happened, sounding vaguely apologetic. I got waked up by a big crash upstairs, then a bunch of noises like things being knocked around. After that it was dead silent. I waited a little while, because I know how she is. He rolled his eyes. But then when I didn’t hear anything I went and knocked on her door. Nobody answered, so I knocked harder...

Diana pushed him aside and pounded on the apartment door. Colleen? Are you all right? Colleen! She turned to the landlord. Well, aren’t you going to open the door?

The man hurriedly searched through his key ring and finally got the door open. I didn’t want to take it on myself...

The tight-lipped woman went in first, carefully stepping over half-finished oil-paintings, sketch-books, brushes, and heaps of clothes. An empty vodka bottle lay on its side and cigarette butts littered the floor. Through the haze of smoke Jeff could see an easel resting crookedly against a chair where it had fallen. On the far side of the room a work-table lay on its side, surrounded by overturned tubes of paint. A smear of red added drama to the scene, but he saw that it was simply paint, squirted from one of the tubes. Diana picked her way over to the table.

Over here! she said, pointing beyond it. He hurried to join her. Colleen’s body lay sprawled awkwardly among the debris, head thrown back and open mouth showing large front teeth with a gap in the middle. Her chest rose and fell slowly. Thank God! Diana sighed in relief.

They lifted the limp body onto a small sofa and righted the table. I think she’ll be all right, but it’s best if we try to wake her up. She might have hurt herself when she fell. Diana patted her cheek and shook her gently. Colleen darling, wake up.

Jeff watched for any signs of wakefulness, holding his breath against the stench of tobacco and alcohol. Are you sure it wouldn’t be better just to let her sleep it off?

The landlord stood by the table, blinking and squinting, thumbs tucked into his belt. I think you got to get her waked up. Make sure she’s okay.

Colleen sighed heavily as the older woman kept shaking her and slapping her cheek. Finally her eyes fluttered open. Jesus! What’s going on? Leave me alone. I want to sleep.

Are you okay, dear? You fell down. We were afraid you might have hurt yourself.

I’m okay. Her mouth worked briefly and she stuck out her tongue. Yuck, what a taste!

Are you sure you’re all right? What happened?

The young woman shook her head as if to clear it, further tangling the mop of flaming red hair. She lifted herself on her elbows. I’m drunk as a skunk. I want a cigarette. She slumped back on the sofa and passed out with a deep sigh.

Diana looked up at Jeff, shaking her head. We’ve got to get something into her. She’s bound to be dehydrated after all that booze. See if you can find some fruit juice while I check her body for bruises. Diana glanced up at the landlord and jerked her head in the direction of the door. Thanks for being concerned. I think we can handle it from here on out. The man appeared reluctant to leave, but finally moved toward the door, glancing over his shoulder as Diana began undressing the unconscious woman.

* * * *

Later, back at the Thornton residence, he changed his clothes and made coffee as Diana showered. The cat rubbed against his legs. Okay Sheba, I guess you deserve to be fed. Emergency’s over. He reached into the bag of dry cat food and put a handful in Sheba’s dish. She looked up at him, twitching her tail.

There! In your dish! Oh, all right. He opened a can with a picture of Garfield the Cat on it. Here. I should know better by now. Spoiled cat.

Whose fault is that? Sheba asked, daintily tasting the wet food.

He started washing the mountain of dishes that always seemed to grow faster than anyone could keep up with, thinking back on the morning’s events. Getting Colleen undressed so they could check for bruises had finally awakened her. It had been necessary to explain what was going on, but she immed¬iately understood and thanked them. Fortunately the only bruises were small ones, and she felt that everything inside was all right—except for the effects of the alcohol. The refrigerator had been empty, so he had gone out for orange juice. At Colleen’s insistence they had left her to recover at leisure.

Washing dishes was the perfect activity for musing on things, Jeff had discovered. It was something about the monot¬ony and having his hands in warm water. His thoughts drifted back to the letter from Martin Schofield that had begun the whole saga. The letter had intrigued him with its suggestions of high-tech excitement and romance—just what he needed for his next novel. He’d taken Schofield at his word and called Diana from New York, intending to make polite inquiries. What he discovered was a new dimension. When he got off the phone two hours later it was with the conviction that his destiny had been decided for him, in some mysterious fashion.

Two weeks later he and his faithful laptop computer Toto had moved into the cramped guest room in the Thornton residence, initially under an assumed name. It wasn’t wise for people to be aware of his real mission, he had found. They tended either to freeze up or become annoyingly effusive. Having a recognized name might be convenient at a hotel or nightclub, but when you were gathering material for a novel it was more of a hindrance.

So far, he had been unable to decide exactly what was going on with Diana and her VirGen—the Virtual Reality Generator that was the center of this beehive of activity. People came and went. The phone rang all day, or she was furiously tapping at the touch-tone pad and drumming her fingers on the table as she waited to be connected. He’d picked up hints of romance, of deals being made, of serious problems. But when he tried to get to the bottom of things, some bizarre new interruption always seemed to frustrate his efforts. This morning’s episode with Colleen was no exception. He had been planning to visit the showroom where the VirGen was on display, just to get a feel for the scope of the operation. He had been hoping for a personal demonstration, but the machine was down at the moment, in need of a critical part. Diana told him again and again that once he’d experienced the remarkable injector of programmed hallucinations he’d be a changed man.

She herself appeared to be a magnet for the dramatic events that got in the way of his pursuit of facts. There was no identifiable pattern to these events and he could not fault her for being secretive. It was simply that all too often chaos ruled at the Thornton household. When it came to a plot for his book he was at a loss, so far at least, and had resigned himself to typing notes into Toto’s voluminous memory.

Chapter 2

With the pots and pans still unwashed, he was jarred from his musings by an ominous gurgle from the faucet. The water dribbled to a stop. Instantly there was a shriek from the bath¬room. Diana ran out in a terrycloth robe, hair lathered and dripping bits of foam.

What happened to the water? Did you turn it off?

He raised his hands helplessly. Don’t look at me! I’m trying to do the dishes.

Those bastards! They actually did it! They turned off my water! That’s it. I’m calling the mayor. She strode back into the bathroom, then returned to the kitchen for a small saucepan, muttering something about the water in the toilet tank. A minute later she came out and asked Jeff if he could get her a bucket of water from the hot tub so she could rinse off. He did that, then dried his hands and looked happily at the slowly-filling pot of coffee. At least that hadn’t been interrupted.

He went out the back door, walked around to the front of the house, and found the thick Los Angeles Times in its plastic wrapper on the front lawn. He brought the paper back inside and sat at the kitchen table, shoving some manila folders aside on the red-and-white checked oilcloth to make room. The hectic pace of life in the Thornton house didn’t leave much time for catching up on the news. In the bathroom Diana was talking to herself, sounding like an angry truck-driver trying to change a tire at night in a blizzard with the wrong tools.

The Mr. Coffee machine completed its cycle with an officious burp. He poured himself a cup and had just started to read about the current murder trial when Diana came back into the kitchen, still in the robe but with a Turkish towel wrapped around her head.

Were you able to rinse off? he asked her.

What? I can’t hear you. She arranged the towel to let one ear peek out and sat at the table with him.

I said...what’s this about them turning off the water?

She pursed her lips. I screwed up, that’s all. I’ll have to run over there and pay them enough to turn it back on. God, I’ll be glad when I have some money again. Being broke sucks. It absolutely sucks! By the way, thanks for doing the dishes.

That’s okay, somebody’s got to do them. But I wish Craig would get his carcass back here. He’s a top gun in the kitchen.

She brightened at the mention of her new squeeze and smiled softly, momentarily forgetting the crisis. The kitchen’s not the only room Craig’s a top gun in, sweetie. I miss him a bunch. I can hardly wait till this weekend!

I’ll bet. So, do you think Colleen will be all right?

Sure. Normally she gets to the sofa before she passes out. By this afternoon she’ll be hungry and talkative. She’ll peddle her bike over here and want to soak in the hot tub and stay for supper. Diana peeled a banana part way down and held it out to him. Bite?

Thanks.

But you know, I think it’s about time she got her act together. This bingeing has got to be destroying her liver. Colleen’s always taken good care of her body. She even does workouts. Did you know that? She has a deal with a health club. They let her use the facilities and she paints murals on the walls.

Clever gal! How old is she, anyway?

Around thirty. Too old to act the way she does. One time they found her passed out under a bush in the park. Sigh. I do wish she’d get herself straightened out. I’ve got other things to do than clean up after her.

That seemed to remind her of the empty water pipes. She pushed her chair back from the table and stood. Yuck! I’m sticky all over. Well, there isn’t going to be any water until I go over there and give them their pound of flesh. Hmm.... She pinched her midriff. Maybe I should give them five or ten pounds!

I like you the way you are. Listen, let me drive you over to the water company. It’s the least I can do, and it’ll give me a chance to talk to you without being interrupted, for a change.

He knew it would take her at least half an hour to dress and put on her face—maybe even more without water. Might as well use the time to catch up on correspondence. Let the L. A. Times wait. Toto was always ready on the small desk. He sat in front of it and clicked the Internet icon.

* * * *

Nelson—Just a brief update. Sorry if I was short with you the other day, but things are pretty hectic here at the Thornton beehive. As I started to tell you on the phone, I think Martin Schofield may be out in left field. Did I ever give you a copy of his letter? Frankly, I doubt whether this will be my next novel. I still haven’t had a chance to test the VirGen. A klystron tube, whatever that is, blew out and they don’t have money for a new one. I think our queen bee has been living on money put up by friends and relatives. Starla, her daughter, has a job but it doesn’t pay much. If things don’t start happening in a week or so, it’s back to the Big Apple for me.

Got any new sales figures on Scarlet Lips? Have they picked up the motion-picture option yet? Guess not, or you would have told me.

Incidentally, it’s better if you use email rather than trying to call, since her majesty’s on the phone most of the day. She has call-waiting, but it always irritates her to be interrupted.

Jeff

As the novelist was waiting for the message to transmit, Diana appeared in the doorway, dressed and newly faced. Jeff, are you sure you don’t mind taking time out? I do have a car, you know. She came over to see what he was doing, with no thought for his privacy. He had noticed that trait in her in the brief time he’d lived here. To his landlady nothing was secret, including the most intimate details of her own life. It bespoke a certain grand innocence that both flattered and annoyed him. Flattered, because it meant intimacy and trust; annoyed, be¬cause for him there still had to be secrets. Quickly he closed the computer’s lid and stood, hoping it didn’t look as if he were trying to hide something.

Hey, I enjoy riding around with you. Gives me a chance to pick up local color. Let’s go! I can finish this later.

As he drove, Jeff marveled at the seething mini-malls on Sepulveda Boulevard. New York City had nothing to compare, at least not in the neighborhoods he frequented. But he was more interested in the water bill, since it could be a clue to what was really going on here. Listen, not to pry or anything, but how did you manage to let the water bill go this long? Don’t they send reminders, final notices, and all that?

She gave him a shaman’s smile. I never pay bills on time anymore. How else do you think I get by? I have to juggle accounts to make the money last. This time I got caught, that’s all!

He found a parking place near the water-company’s office. Crossing the building’s plaza, they were forced to go around an immense fountain made of poured concrete and twisted steel beams. Water dribbled out of rusted pipes. The sight prompted a wry comment from Jeff. That has got to be the ugliest sculpture I have ever seen. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was rubble left over from the earthquake. He paused to gaze at it, hands on hips, frowning.

I know, but what can you do? The artist is making a statement.

What’s he saying, do you think?

She shrugged. Something about society disintegrating, most likely.

The author scowled at the ugly jumble. I don’t mind an artist making a statement, as long as he doesn’t do it in public. It hurts my eyes. It would frighten the horses, if there were any horses.

Diana laughed. If my water-bill money goes to pay for junk like this, it’s no wonder society’s disintegrating!

They continued on their way, circling the monstrosity. Inside the building’s cavernous lobby thick bulletproof panes separated the clerks from the customers.

Why all the glass? It looks like an aquarium.

This is California, darling. When it comes to water, people are apt to shoot first and ask questions later! Remember all those movies? It’s a favorite plot device.

In line ahead of them a short man with a drooping black mustache confronted the clerk with waving hands and Spanish epithets. He was clearly not convinced the tiny microphone embedded in the glass would carry his voice through to the other side. Ultimately he forked over some money and left, mumbling to himself.

Diana paid the clerk. That should hold them for a month. By then I should be rolling in money.

Good. I don’t care about the dishes, but I insist on showers!

They returned to the car, once again forced to circle the dribbling fountain’s tortured structure, and headed back home. This had been one more of those bizarre interruptions that threw him off track, but at least now he had Diana to himself for a few minutes and decided to take advantage of the situation.

Do you think I’ll have a chance to try out the VirGen pretty soon? It’s the main reason I’m here, you know.

Can you hold on for another week?

I think so. Why?

I’m working on a deal that should net me fifty thousand dollars. I need that much to pay for a new klystron tube and take care of old bills. There’s back rent and salaries, and pay¬ments on parts and test equipment. As soon as I get the money, we’ll be back in business and you can have your demo. In fact, I’ll make sure you get the first demo, just as soon as the Hallu is working again.

Hallu?

That’s what I call the VirGen for short. It injects hallucinations. Adam’s working on the software while we wait for the money. It’s going to be even better than before. That man is a genius! He’s a little nuts, but he’s the most creative computer programmer I’ve ever met. Have I told you about the Auto-scripter? It was my idea originally, but I never thought it would be possible without a multi-million-dollar investment in pro¬gramming. Well, Adam actually came up with a way to do it!

Okay, I’ll bite. What does the Autoscripter do?

It controls the VirGen. You just type up a script and feed it into the scanner, instead of having to film live actors and use sets and all that. It draws on stored images and sounds. You’ll see for yourself just as soon as we get the new klystron tube.

Jeff mulled this over, weaving in and out of the congestion that