[Chapter 60: The Sound of Kissing]
The truth was, Orlando couldn't afford to buy the New York Post -- for now.
Setting aside the tip Kurt received, the asking price announced by Peter Kalikow for the New York Post was between $60 million and $70 million. That was a fortune Orlando simply didn't have access to at the moment.
Even if Orlando managed to negotiate down the price, or somehow scraped together $60 to $70 million to actually buy the New York Post, it probably wouldn't have been wise for him to proceed.
Because after the purchase, he would have to take on the paper's existing debt, which stood at over $100 million.
On top of that, with print media struggling, the New York Post was a sinking ship -- a negative asset.
It had been losing money for two straight years, with monthly losses averaging at least $2 million.
Though a bit disappointing -- it crushed his dream of transforming from a superstar to a media mogul -- Orlando just took the news in stride. After all, it was just a spur-of-the-moment idea sparked by a news article.
---
Time rolled on quickly, moving into late June.
As Independence Day approached, a wave of patriotic fervor swept across America.
In the weeks leading to Independence Day, American streets and neighborhoods everywhere proudly display the Stars and Stripes, just like that fateful moment 214 years ago when America's founding fathers, led by Washington, brought the country into being...
Orlando, not long before Independence Day, welcomed back someone just as important to him as Washington was to America -- Daisy, returning from Washington, D.C., as vital as his telepathy or The Awakening or other cheats.
At New York's Kennedy Airport, 2 PM, a Boeing plane bearing a blue letter M taxied slowly onto a private tarmac.
Once fully stopped, a stair truck quickly rolled up and positioned the stairs.
The cabin door opened. Daisy Cuomo stepped out, wearing black sunglasses.
Her fiery red hair swept up neatly at the back of her head, with two loose strands cascading beside her cheeks, matching the black trench coat flowing in the breeze.
Her bright red lips were pressed lightly together, and the black wide-leg pants hugged her slender legs, shaped just right by the wind.
Standing atop the stairway, Daisy looked down at two black Dodge SUVs parked nearby. Two tall bodyguards waited by the vehicles, while the figure she'd been craving most stood between them, waving from a distance.
Though the distance made it hard to see him clearly, Daisy gave him a big smile and waved back before eagerly descending the plane.
Still, the tarmac wasn't totally secure.
Both Daisy and Orlando exercised restraint, cautious as ever.
Only once inside the backseat of the Dodge SUV did Orlando pull her into a tight embrace and kiss her passionately.
"I've missed you so much, my dear Daisy!" he said.
"Me too!" she replied.
---
Later, they were in the Ambassador Suite at the Four Seasons.
On the rumpled mattress, under the crumpled white comforter, Orlando held Daisy curled up against him, a smooth pale leg draped over his body as she slept.
The bedroom was a mess--
A serving cart sat beside the bed, littered with leftover food scraps.
Two stemmed wine glasses contained a little red wine, and two empty bottles of wine lay tipped over on the cart.
A pair of torn nude stockings hung on the cart's handle, and scattered tissues carpeted the soft white wool rug.
The jangling ring of a phone woke Orlando from sleep.
He opened his eyes, rubbed a throbbing temple, gently slipped his arm from under Daisy's neck where it had gone numb, moved it a bit, and reached for the phone on the bedside table.
"Hello?"
"Orlando, it's Frank."
"I know it's you, Frank. Only you would be calling at this hour! You better have something important to say, or I'm flushing all those vintage Cuban cigars in your office down the toilet!"
"Uh..." Frank, unaware of Orlando picking up Daisy, sounded a bit bewildered but pressed on.
"Of course I have something important. This is strange. Jennifer's at the company, Shania's at the company, Madonna's in Seattle, and at this time... damn it, I get it!"
Frank lowered his voice on the other end.
"Ms. Cuomo?"
"Speak, Frank. What's going on?"
"It's about Ralph Lauren. But I'm not sure if I should say it with Ms. Cuomo nearby."
"Does it matter if she's here or not?"
"Oh, it matters. Remember I told you Ralph Lauren invited you to be the face of their entire line because of Miss Dylan Lauren's personal factors?"
"Of course."
"Well, things have changed again. I don't know how she did it, but Ralph Lauren just sent a new cooperation offer, and this time they even brought the contract."
"What's going on? First they wanted to sign me, then backed off, and now they're flipping again?"
"So I asked if Ms. Cuomo was there with you, because... Miss Lauren wants to invite you to dinner. After dinner, we can sign the contract."
"Fuck! Daisy, are you awake?"
Just then, Frank heard rustling from the phone on his end.
A few seconds later, Orlando's voice came through again.
"Okay, Frank, tell Miss Lauren I agreed. But I get to pick the restaurant."
"No problem."
Without a word, Frank hung up without any further questions about whether Ms. Cuomo was with Orlando.
The sounds he'd just heard -- smacking lips and kissing noises.
Old pro Frank immediately recognized them -- the unmistakable sounds of a couple making out.
And it sounded very French, too.
"I'm on it. I'll notify Miss Lauren right away."
*****
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