“We’d see other people while I’m gone. You’d have the same prerogative as I, although I’ve been known to get jealous. It can be ugly.” He paused. “At any rate, Jane, my preference is for you to give notice at your job as soon as possible.”
* * * *
Luke left on Tuesday and, thankfully, we parted on good terms. However, while he was in Seattle, I discovered more than I had bargained for.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
On the Thursday after Luke left I got home from work and heard his phone ring for the first time. I hadn’t bothered turning off the ringer because the calls had been infrequent. By the time I went to bed, though, there had been a couple more, so I turned it off. During the night I was awakened several times by the phone in the second bedroom and realized they were coming hourly. By three o’clock in the morning I had convinced myself the caller had to be an ex-girlfriend because no business associate would keep calling every hour throughout the night.
My stomach churned and I got very little sleep. At five in the morning I sent an email to Luke.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: The Phone
Hi Luke,
The phone has been ringing every hour since I arrived home from work last night. I turned the ringer off on the phone in the living room but the one in your office keeps ringing, and I can hear it through the wall. I got very little sleep last night and am pretty grumpy.
Did you piss off an old girlfriend? Should I be worried for my safety? I know you hate my jealousy but it’s running rampant right now.
Is there something you can do about the phone? I mean I know you’re on the other side of the country but if there’s a way for you to turn off the ringer remotely, please do so.
You can’t get home soon enough, Luke. I hate us being apart.
I’ll have a surprise for you when you get back.
I would love to get a call from you just to hear your voice.
Missing you so,
Jane
The calls continued until I left for work. When I returned home on Friday, only twenty minutes passed before the phone rang again. I checked my email but found nothing from Luke. I realized I didn’t have his number. Or did I? I looked around the bedroom for the card he had given me with his email address. I dialed the number on the card from my cellphone. When the phone started ringing in his office, I felt defeated.
Staring at the card, I wondered if controlme.com was a website. I opened my laptop again and typed in www.controlme.com. As the first page populated, my own image stared back at me. There could be no mistake. I clicked on the picture of me tied to the chair following my nipple torment and subsequent orgasms. The click took me to another page of pictures. Had he taken so many of me already? There I was, tied to the bed, tied to the artwork behind the couch. There were pictures he had taken in the studio and even of me sleeping. I had to admit, as pissed off as I felt, that the pictures were good. But I couldn’t imagine why people would actually buy these when they could already view them on the site. I wondered if anyone had framed photographs of me on their wall. Trepidation seized me at the thought.
I went back to the home page, where I found photos of at least twenty-five different women. Many were in school-girl outfits, exposing themselves under their skirts. One woman I recognized from the photograph in Luke’s office. I clicked on her picture and found hundreds of photographs—several of them part of a series. Her first pictures were similar to mine, but as I scrolled down the webpage, they became more and more extreme. In one photo she had what looked like needles, thick ones, piercing each nipple. Frightened, I shut the laptop. I wondered if that was what he intended for me.
As with a bad car accident on the side of the road, I couldn’t look away. I had to see the website again. I opened up the computer and resumed my hunt. Farther down on the same woman’s page, she was shown tied face down on a table, spread-eagled. Six men, all erect, surrounded the table. I could have sworn one of them was Luke but couldn’t be sure. His scar wasn’t visible, and he was looking at the woman, not the camera.
My breathing became labored, but not from arousal. Two conflicting emotions tore at me. The first was raging jealousy. Although I had little experience with it I was sure now that it flowed through my veins like lava. The second was fear. Not your everyday fear, but abject terror. Was this the path I had embarked on? Was there still time to leave now while I could still, if only slightly, recognize myself? How could I be jealous and petrified at the same time? It made no sense whatsoever. Did I want to be her? I couldn’t, could I?
I tried to rationalize the photos away. They had to be staged. Surely the men hadn’t all fucked her. They had just been posing for the camera. Of course the link saying, “To see more of the series, please click here” challenged my efforts to mitigate the situation. I hit the link and it brought me to an email address. Luke’s.
The realist in me said, “Jane, your photos weren’t staged.”
“SHUT UP,” I screamed at myself.
As exhausted as I felt, I put on my running clothes and tied my sneakers. I checked my email once more as the phone rang again in Luke’s studio. Taking a bottle of water, I flounced to my car.
Once on the beach I could finally breathe. I was able to find composure again as I ran. I knew I needed much more information than Luke had given me. It hadn’t occurred to me to be enraged at him for posting my pictures without my express permission. What enraged me were the twenty-four other women on his site.
I was just a temporary means to a business end, money in Luke’s pocket. I stopped running about halfway down the beach when a panic attack of mass proportions overtook me. I had given notice earlier that day at work and now my life with Luke was crumbling down around me. I dropped to my knees in the sand and cried. I knew I was making a scene but I couldn’t stop myself.
When had I become the person who cries all the time? Constant weeping was another foreign phenomenon taking over my life.
As fate would have it or the annoying god above, Scott approached me with a look of utter concern.
“I’m fine,” I said, pushing myself up to a standing position.
“Are you sure?” he asked, taking my arm to hold me steady.
“Perfectly,” I managed.
“If you want to talk, you know where I am,” he said, his green eyes piercing my teary ones.
“Talking was never our strong suit, Scott,” I tried to joke as I wiped the tears off my cheek.
“Is it that guy from the house? Do you want to go back to my place?”
Such I guy, I thought. “No,” I said. “Just a case of PMS and a twisted ankle. I’ll be fine.” I limped off the sand onto the boardwalk for dramatic effect. As I went through the motions of stretching out my foot, I waved goodbye to Scott.
I ran back the way I had come, ending my run early.
Back at our apartment I undressed, stretched, and heard the damn phone ring again. I had fantasies of breaking the office door down and smashing it. The calls represented all the women on his website.
After my shower I sat on the bed staring at the computer. I wanted to check my email but knew if I opened the computer I would go back to his website and continue to torture myself with the women and photographs. It wasn’t until about an hour later, when the phone rang again, that I opened the laptop and checked my email.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: The Phone
Baby,
Sorry about the phone calls. I’ve taken care of it but just in case you can go into the office and turn the ringer off. The key is just above the door on the frame. I’ll make sure to do that in the future when I’m out of town.
Jealousy, as I’ve said, is okay in moderation. When it takes over, it’s very unattractive and not at all sexy.
I miss you, too … and feel you need to be disciplined for leaving me on my own again.
Expect it when I get home.
Looking forward to your surprise. I hope it’s what I think it is. If so, expect a huge celebration.
You can’t imagine how I’m missing that naked body of yours.
I will be home Sunday around lunchtime.
As always, be ready for me.
Love,
Luke
I couldn’t believe he had left a key to the office door right above it. I went into the living room and sat on the couch. I looked over at the door, stared at it. Had the key been there all along? Was this some sort of test? All my answers were waiting in the office. I knew I could spend hours exploring the studio and all the files. Tomorrow would be soon enough.
I reached up on tiptoe and felt for the key. Sure enough the key worked. I turned the handle and walked through the sacred doorway straight to the phone. I turned off the ringer and quickly left. If I’d been smart, I’d have locked the door behind me, but I couldn’t make myself do it.
I went back to the bedroom and crashed for the night.
When I awoke the next morning I remembered having a dream. I had gone searching through Luke’s office but when I tried to leave, I found myself locked in and unable to get out. I knew my psyche was trying to warn me about something but I couldn’t make any sense of it.
Taking only the time to brush my teeth and pee, I set my sights on his office. I had a plan of attack. I entered the office and closed the door behind me—it seemed weird to leave it open. I began my search at the wall on the right, rifling through the cabinets above the counter and sink, but only finding photo supplies. I assumed I would discover the same under the counter and went to the first of two file cabinets, surprised to find them unlocked. I sat on the floor and opened the bottom drawer.
I found exactly what I had been expecting—alphabetical files with women’s names on them. They held negatives in plastic protective sheets, photos, notes, and sometimes more.
I pulled several files at once, placed them on my lap, and went through them methodically, making sure to keep the contents in order. As I worked my way up I found one folder with a black and red garter in it. None of the photos or negatives showed the garter. I wondered what that meant.
Somehow it was easier to tolerate the pictures in the hundreds of files than on the website. I wonder if he rotated the images or if the ones currently displayed were the most recent.
I took out several files from the top drawer of the second cabinet and as I sat back down on the floor they slipped from my hands.
“Fuck, shit, fuck!” I screamed. I knew I was screwed. I paced back and forth, with the mess lying on the floor beside me. “That was pretty fuckin’ stupid, Jane. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I said as I glanced down over and over again.
I quickly retrieved my computer from the bedroom and went back into the office, forgetting about the door. Sitting on the floor, I spent the next hour searching controlme.com to match the names and pictures. Of the five files I had dropped, I confidently matched three. In front of me lay a Jessica and a Betty. That left me with a fifty-fifty chance of replacing the remaining two correctly. Maybe because of reading Archie comics when I was a kid, I put the blonde in the Betty file and the brunette with the obviously enhanced breasts in Jessica.
I knew my mistake could come back to haunt me. All my searching hadn’t revealed anything new. I had been looking for something more personal than just photographs. The garter discovery seemed the closest. I went back to that file and took note of her name. Page.
Could he have been married before? I had never asked him.
In a box on the floor at the far end of the room, I found a variety of restraints. Some looked worn and old and others, hardly used.
I rose to my feet, about to give up, when I remembered the cabinets under the counter. I started on the one closest to the door, finding nothing of interest, just more developing supplies. In the last cabinet near the far wall was a large black box. I pulled it onto my lap and opened the lid, revealing a photo album. I knew instinctively that the album was the treasure I had been seeking.
I sat for a minute with my heart racing. Did I really want to confirm my suspicions? Hadn’t that been the whole purpose of rummaging through his office in the first place? I opened the album and saw pictures of Page first. The pages contained photos you would expect in any couple’s album—pictures you could show your friends and family. In the first grouping, taken at a picnic, Luke appeared younger by about five years. Another series were of her laughing on different amusement rides. I paused, afraid of seeing them being married. Finally, skipping a bunch of pages, I flipped to the middle of the book. Janice—the woman in the photo on the wall across from me—surfaced in the next series of pictures.
I eventually made my way through the entire album, which held photos of six women in all. Each section exhibited normal relationship pictures, some with Luke, some without. The empty pages at the end of the book held impressions of photos. I wondered why the pictures had been taken out.
Over the next few days the photos in the album ate at me. I couldn’t explain my justification for making a big deal out of nothing. Why should I care, right? After all, he had lived to the age of forty-five before meeting me and had never claimed to be celibate. What bothered me was the intimacy and normalcy I had seen in the photo album.
Where was the normalcy in our relationship?
I put everything back where I’d found it and even got a cloth from the kitchen to wipe down the file cabinet drawers and the other cabinets. Placing the album carefully back in the black box under the counter, I left the office.
I remained in a funk for the rest of Saturday. I didn’t go on my long run and stayed in bed most of the time. Writing a bit about how I felt and questioning what I was doing to myself didn’t help shift my mood.
When had I become like my mother—a liar and a snoop? What had happened to the girl who valued honesty above all else?
I wrote down all the changes I had experienced. I listed the pros and cons of calling my father and debated why I kept putting it off. Part of me wanted badly to see him, but my emotional state was so fragile and my heart so vulnerable at present that it seemed unwise. Fear of letting him in just to have him leave again also kept me from making the call. I ate a bagel only when hunger wouldn’t allow me to rest. I knew I needed to snap out of it, for Luke would be back tomorrow.
On Sunday morning I decided my new goal in life was to get pictures of me into his photo album. Somehow creating a new focus for myself helped me to cope with everything I’d discovered. I contemplated telling Luke about my exploration of the website and hoped and prayed he’d never find out about my excursion into his office.
I needed to combat the increasing anxiety that filled me, but running was out because of the danger of another chance meeting with Scott. I used the treadmill instead. I expended the rest of my excess energy in cleaning our small apartment. It felt good to make it spotless for his return.
I decided to hold off telling Luke that I had checked out the website because I didn’t know how he would react. I wanted him to be happy about me giving notice at work and being able to travel with him. I wanted our reunion to be wonderful.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Luke breezed into the apartment, dropping his garment bag and suitcase at the door. He held a huge bouquet of Gerber Daisies and Gladiolas. I jumped up from the couch, closing the laptop as I stood, and met him half way. He lifted me into his arms, kissing me full on the mouth, breathing me in.
“Please tell me your surprise is what I think it is,” he said as he presented me with the flowers.
“It is,” I said, wrapping my arms even tighter around his neck.
“Then it’s official. Two more weeks and then you’re totally mine. You can’t even begin to imagine the fun we’ll have. I have many new ideas for pictures of you. I have plans for those flowers but first have you eaten because I’m starved.” He spoke faster with more animation than I had yet experienced.
/> I laughed because I felt such joy in seeing him so happy. My gut wrenched momentarily over the things I had done while he’d been traveling but I managed to push them away. There would be time to torture myself over my indiscretions later.
“I love you so much,” I said. “I’m so damn happy you’re home you can’t even imagine.”
“Oh, but I can imagine. When you’ve found the woman you want to spend your life with, being away is very hard. Hard on both of us.”
“Is that me?” I said.
He lifted me up like a bride and carried me to the bedroom. He put me down on my feet and slapped my ass. “Get dressed quickly, and you can do it in here. I need to devour you but Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs dictates I must eat first.”
He went into his office and my heart skipped a couple of beats. I prayed he wouldn’t notice anything out of place. After dressing quickly, I met him in the living room. He had a camera in his hands and my heart soared. Forgetting my crimes and misdemeanors, I danced about on the spot.
He took my hand in his and spun me around and around. I laughed as I almost lost my balance.
“Let’s go,” he said. “Grab the flowers.”
My Body-His Page 18