Private Pleasures Read Online Free PDF Page A

which she buttered. Then she emptied the container of mashed potatoes and gravy onto the plate, opened the coleslaw and took it into the den. Returning to the kitchen, she grabbed a fork, a napkin, and a glass of peach iced tea. Back in the den she turned on Peter Jennings, and sat down to eat. The news was the same as always. War and a fluctuating stock market.
Mick and Jerry, the family cats, appeared magically, licking their chops and meowing. They looked up hopefully at Nora. She laughed, pulled the meat from the two wings, put it on a napkin, and set it down on the floor for the two felines to devour. When the news ended, she turned the set off. The clock on the fireplace mantle struck seven o'clock, and as it did she considered her conversation with her friends this morning. She was alone tonight. No one but her and the cats in the house. She could order this channel thing. They all seemed to like it, and damnit, she could use a lift. She suspected it was some sort of X-rated channel, but why not? Carla was her best friend in all the world, and Carla wouldn't steer her wrong. Nora picked up the telephone and dialed Suburban Cable.
Two rings, and an automated voice was droning in her ear. "Thank you for calling Suburban Cable. If you are experiencing technical difficulties, please press one. If you would like to order one of our pay-per-view movies, please press two. All other callers, please remain on the line for the next available representative. Your call will be answered in the order in which it was received."
Was The Channel a movie? Nora wondered. No. Carla would have said so. She hung on the line as the elevator music kicked in, playing that golden oldie, and rather applicable to her situation, "These Boots Are Made for Walkin'." Nora felt a grin crease her face.
"Suburban Cable, this is Joyce. How may I help you?" a cheerful voice suddenly chirped in her ear.
"I . . . I'd like to order The Channel," Nora said, the words rushing out.
"Your telephone number, please," Joyce said, sounding totally disinterested in Nora's choice of entertainment.
"It's 567-2339," Nora replied.
"Buckley? At 720 Ansley Court?"
"Yes."
"And you are?" Joyce asked.
"Mrs. Buckley," Nora replied.
"Very good, Mrs. Buckley. You'll find your selection tonight on channel sixty-nine at eight p.m. Is there anything else I can do for you at this moment?"
"No. Thank you," Nora answered, and then she hung up. Omigod! She had done it. She giggled to herself, and began to finish her supper. She realized now that she couldn't wait until eight. It probably was a porn channel, she decided, but she didn't care. She and Jeff had once watched a couple of movies from the video store. Her husband had claimed to be turned off by them, or so he had said. Nora had thought the films silly, but they were certainly stimulating, she recalled. It was probably just what she needed. An evening of dirty movies, and a pint of caramel praline ice cream. She picked her chicken down to the bone and cleaned her plate of everything else.
Putting her dishes in the dishwasher, Nora went upstairs, showered quickly, and got into a clean nightshirt that had a teddy bear on the front of it claiming, "I don't do mornings." Giving her ice cream ten seconds in the microwave, she got a spoon and a glass of water, and set them on the table by her large recliner. Then settling into the chair with a contented sigh, she picked up the remote as the clock struck eight p.m., pressed it on, and coded in sixty-nine. The screen was black.
"Oh, for God's sakes," Nora muttered aloud. Did they forget to send her the signal? Damn! She had been looking forward to this.
But then suddenly the screen lightened, and a rather mellifluous voice said silkily, "Good evening, and welcome to The Channel, where your fantasies become your reality."
Well, that was certainly confusing, but absolutely intriguing. Then the screen changed again. Nora found herself looking into a rather large living room that came into