Slow Satisfaction

by Cecilia Tan

  Now wasn’t the time for art analysis, though. Now I wanted to find out what happened with Ben and Pascual. “Well? What did you learn on your car ride?”

  “I will have to tell you later,” he said, making a gesture like he was still worried the room had ears. I knew Ty had checked it only a short time ago but I also knew this was one thing we really didn’t want Ferrara to get wind of. “I can tell you that I’ve made some plans for our counteroffensive, though.”

  Our video, I assumed. “I talked to Becky, Paul, and Misha earlier. Becks will be here tomorrow, she said.”

  “Yes, I talked to her myself earlier today. She’s quite sharp, your roommate! I’m impressed. I put all kinds of references and things into the songs and the music but I never expect anyone to actually get it.”

  I laughed in amusement. I don’t think he quite understood that there were millions of fans out there analyzing his every word, every breath, on hundreds of websites, forums, and chat rooms all across the world. But Becky was quite sharp, too. “Just don’t get her started on Foucault or you’ll be talking all night.”

  “You don’t like Foucault?”

  “I like him just fine. You can’t study art in the postmodern era without him. That’s why Becky and I talked about him all night one night.”

  Of course, that meant that James and I stayed up late talking about art. Not too many men could keep up with me on the subject, but James had no trouble, and we ended the night with some artistic fun of our own.

  Things got very very busy after that, as the night of the debut was only a few short weeks away, and there was still so much to learn, sets to be built, costumes to be made, et cetera. Rehearsal hours doubled, and for James they tripled since he was also rehearsing the songs with the band at some music studio a mile away. He and the band did most of their work in the evenings—as he put it, rock musicians were not morning people—leaving me some time to see the Vegas sights with Becky and to work on my thesis.

  And yet, in spite of all that, he still found the energy to play games with me, tying me, spanking me, sometimes fucking me to the edge of orgasm for both of us in the morning and then making us both wait until night to finish.

  We had special fittings for a Peter-Pan-style flying rig that would allow both of us to fly together, as if joined in a somewhat suggestive pose. We tested it extensively as well as practicing how to get into it quickly. Leading up to the moment in the show when we would take off over the audience, Ben and Annika would briefly replace us on the stage. Because of lights and smoke no one would likely be the wiser that for those thirty seconds or so we were actually inside the set, getting the flying rig on, and then whoosh, out we would come as part of another switcheroo. I’d be on the bottom, with him on top. When we practiced it, the pose put his dance-belted cock right in the crack of my ass.

  Becky was fairly busy, too, interviewing Alicia, Chandra, and the dancers about their interpretations of various works. Chandra got a bright idea then, as well, following on James’s that we might have to release some videos of our own. She got Becky to interview various women, me included, about our thoughts on the bondage theme, and about James’s statement that consensuality and mutual respect were empowering. I didn’t feel like much of an expert on the subject, and I didn’t want to talk much about our private life, but I could definitely see how it would be helpful to spread these videos around later, to undo any damage that the “rape tape” (as the ravishment video was being called) might have spread.

  And Becky and I finally got to go shoe shopping, this time with no budget restrictions. I thought she was going to die of ecstasy. Amusingly enough, after trying on twenty pairs of shoes at three different insanely expensive designer stores, what she ended up buying was a Gucci scarf. She wore it everywhere, so I guess she really liked it.

  In the midst of this, Ferrara released two more videos. One was another ravishment tape, only this time it had herself as the victim, and again the face of the man was obscured, this time by an elaborate carnival-style mask over his eyes. Snippets of James’s voice were interposed at various points where his mouth was not shown, but it was overall smoothly done. Ferrara’s face, of course, was huge, right in the camera. Her crying on camera was nowhere near as convincing as Vanette’s had been, though. James brushed it off. It continued to play into his plans to create a publicity frenzy.

  The next video she put out a few days after that, though, incensed him. It was a music video, using the music from Bride of the Blue, that began with some snippets of the Vanette ravishment video, then had some of the more recent one with Ferrara, this one making it look more like it was as if the couple in the wedding video had made a sex tape that had gone wrong, with more footage of him tearing her clothes and her trying to push him away, and then toward the end, some footage that made my hair stand on end, too.

  It was us, James and me, in bed. And it looked bad. It looked like I was struggling and shouting “no, no.” He threatened to fuck me in the ass and I continued to shout “no.”

  We were watching it on my laptop in the suite. James stood abruptly and went to stand at the edge of the bed, staring at the spot where it had been filmed. “When did they get that? When was that?”

  “I’m trying to think. When was the last time you teased me about fucking me in the ass?” I backed up the video and watched it again. “Damn it. I’m actually struggling to get your cock into me here, but in the context of the other footage, it sure doesn’t look that way.”

  He turned and stared at the media center shelf. “The camera vantage is from here.”

  “And a good thing, too, so your face doesn’t show.” I moved to stand next to him and it dawned on me. “Phil. The night he snuck in here dressed as a waiter. He must have taken the camera when he came in.”

  James pointed to the books. “Yes. You’re right. Remember when I signed the room service check? He had me lean on a book, which I thought was odd since the folder was adequate enough for that. But that’s it. He ran off with the book. It wasn’t a book. It was a camera.” He cursed loudly.

  “Well,” I teased, “we were planning to put out a film clip featuring me of some kind, weren’t we?”

  He sat on the edge of the bed. “True. But I do hate having choices taken away from us. From you especially.”

  “It’s all right, James.” I sat next to him. “Don’t let it bother you. That’s what she wants. Does this mean we don’t need to do a tape of our own?”

  “We might not,” he admitted. “The press gala is coming up, though. Did I tell you Mandinka is going to come in to do hair and makeup for it?”

  “For you?”

  “And you. And more important, Ben and Pascual, so that the two of them and me will be perfect matches. But we were speaking about me doing something wicked to you.”

  “On video?”

  “At the press gala. I was thinking of making you into a kind of centerpiece of bondage art. What do you think about that?”

  “I think that would be a great way to avoid having to make awkward cocktail party talk.”

  The next day, Ferrara got even more impatient and desperate. She e-mailed me herself, though from an anonymous account, of course.

  A different edit of the video of me and James having very rough sex was attached to the e-mail. The message read:

  The first thing that will happen if you don’t help us is that this video will be sent to your mother.

  You will threaten to drop out of the show if he doesn’t meet our demands.

  If he refuses, then you will drop out of the show. If you do not, the second thing that will happen is we will send you back a tape of this happening to your mother. Do you understand? We know where she lives.

  I don’t know what Ferrara was thinking. Did she really, seriously think she could blackmail me into betraying James? She’d already tried to play on my worst fear, and failed. I showed him the e-mail immediately.

  He sighed. “Call your mother. Invite her here. Free vac
ation on me. I’m having my own mother come here, too. It’s long past time when I should have told my mother about what I do. I’ll feel better when they’re in our security’s hands.”

  I had to agree with him there. “So you’re going to come out to your mother.”

  He smiled. “Yes. ‘Mom, I have something to tell you. I’ve been hiding it from you all these years.’ ‘What, son? Are you gay?’ ‘No, Mom, I’m a rock star.’ ” He sighed. “Honestly, I can’t imagine she’s going to have a problem with it now. When I first started keeping the secret from her, she was having terrible empty-nest syndrome, clinging to me fiercely and the only thing I could think of was I had to get away. I didn’t want to seem like I was anything less than a dutiful son, though. So I rebelled… but I didn’t tell her. It seems rather stupid now.”

  “I wonder if my mother will be cool with it, too, or if she’ll flip back to being the judgmental person who drove me crazy ever since I got old enough to date.” I held out hope that she’d be accepting, but I figured if not, our rapport was nice while it lasted. I hadn’t ever really expected her to approve of my life choices, so if we went back to that, well, I’d live with it.

  Sixteen

  As Long as There’s Fire

  My conversation with my mother went something like this. “Mom, you know that show in Las Vegas I was telling you about? James and I would like you to come to here to be with us while we work on it.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. We’ve got a whole floor of a hotel to ourselves, and we’d love if you could join us.”

  “You didn’t tell me James was involved in the dance show, too. Is he a financial backer?”

  “Yes. James is inviting his mother, too.”

  “Oh! Oh, well, I should definitely come, then!”

  “Great! I actually already booked your plane tickets. A driver will meet you at the airport here.”

  “Fantastic! Karina, it will be so great to see you! And I’ll finally get to meet your mystery man!”

  She sounded so happy and so unquestioning of the situation that I didn’t say anything more. I figured all explanations would be better done in person.

  I didn’t hear how James convinced his mother to come. Rehearsals became even more intense for me, Annika, Ben, and Pascual. Everyone was working like crazy, but we had more to learn than most. We were so busy that my mother had already been in Las Vegas for several hours before I saw her. It looked to me like she had already been to the spa and the salon when I met her for dinner. I wasn’t looking anywhere near so fresh, after rehearsing all day and then throwing some clothes on before hurrying down to the hotel restaurant.

  The first thing she said was, “Karina, this is quite a nice hotel.”

  “Is it?” I fussed with my napkin, deciding to wait to put it in my lap when something to eat arrived.

  “Oh, yes. The last time I came to Las Vegas all I remember is seedy, tacky places. But, well, I suppose your James counts as a high roller.”

  “I think he wanted somewhere quiet, away from the tourists,” I said. “And with good security.”

  “His staff have certainly been taking good care of me,” she said with a happy sigh.

  We ordered then, me without looking at the menu since I had long since memorized it. “So, Mom, there are some things I have to tell you. They might sound kind of weird.”

  “What kind of weird, dear?”

  “Well, there’s something we’ve been keeping from you because we were afraid you wouldn’t give James a chance.”

  “Don’t be silly. Why wouldn’t I like James?”

  “Well, you know, sometimes people get funny ideas.”

  “They certainly do.”

  Come on, Karina, I thought, get to the point. “So, the thing is, he’s an internationally famous rock star and performer.”

  “Oh, is that all?” She made a motion like she was throwing an imaginary napkin into a basket. “Karina, why would I care about that?”

  For half a second I couldn’t remember why we’d kept it a secret from her. “Well…”

  “I mean, seriously. I was a teenager when Janis Joplin and the Beatles were doing LSD.”

  Right. “Okay, cool, but the thing is that we didn’t just keep it a secret from you. It’s a secret from everyone.”

  “Ohhh. I get it. You mean he’s like Bruce Wayne and Batman. All right. Well, that’s nice, dear. Doesn’t that rather complicate things?”

  My mother, queen of the understatement. “Yes, it does. But the whole point of the concerts we’re doing here is that he’s retiring. These are his good-bye concerts.”

  “And then what? Ride off into the sunset?”

  “Oh, well, he has other pursuits. It’s just the rock star thing will be over.”

  “I see.” She nodded much more knowingly than I expected. “And will I be allowed to see these concerts?”

  “Of course!”

  And on the conversation went. She seemed perfectly happy with me and with the situation. Only when we finished dinner and I was eager to get upstairs and find out if James had returned from music rehearsal did I finally bring up the last difficult topic. “Mom, there’s one more thing you should know.”

  She folded her napkin carefully as she placed it on the table. “And what’s that, dear?”

  “The show. It’s a little… risqué.”

  “Are you topless in it?”

  “What? No!”

  She made the dismissive motion again. “Karina. It’s Las Vegas. If you’re not showing your boobs, you’re fine. You shouldn’t worry about it. Dancing is perfectly respectable.”

  “I’m not worried for myself! I just didn’t want you to be shocked!”

  “Honestly, Karina, you’re acting like it’s a stripper bar you’re taking me to. James sounds like a very tasteful individual. Very artistic. I’m sure you’re in good hands. Now, seriously, when can I meet him?”

  “I’ll have to ask about that. Rehearsals are crazy right now. But I know he’s been looking forward—”

  Damn that James, though, for having impeccable timing. He swept up to the table, took my mother’s hand in his before she was aware of what has happening, and kissed it.

  “Mrs. Casper. I am so sorry I could not greet you before this moment,” he said, dropping to one knee so he didn’t loom over us at the table. “I do hope my staff took excellent care of you during my absence. I’m James.”

  My mother blushed like it was Cary Grant or Richard Gere looking her right in the eye. “Oh, well, yes, very good care. Nice to meet you, James. You can call me Charlotte.”

  “A beautiful name for the beautiful mother of a beautiful daughter.” He kissed me on the cheek and pulled up a chair. Almost instantly a waiter appeared, then disappeared with the mandate to bring us coffee and dessert. “Is it your first time in Las Vegas, Charlotte?”

  “My first in a very long time. I was just telling Karina that either the place has cleaned up a lot or this must be a better class of establishment than I stayed in before.”

  “The town has upscaled quite a bit,” James said. “I do hope you’ll have a chance to see some of it while Karina and I are ensconced in rehearsals. My own mother is flying in this week as well, all the way from London. Dare I suggest the two of you might take in some sights together?”

  “I’d like that. London, you say? I was there before Karina was born! On my honeymoon.”

  And off they went, talking about London. She was completely and utterly charmed by him, I could tell. He asked her questions about me and Jill, and listened to her answers and laughed in the right places, while encouraging her to tell more. She deftly avoided actually talking about my father, which she had years of practice doing, and she told some stories about me that had previously mortified me when she’d brought them up to boyfriends.

  Maybe once you’ve had your ass beaten in front of someone, that story about the time you fell in the lake didn’t seem all that exposing anymore.

  No, that
wasn’t it exactly. It was because with James I wasn’t pretending to be someone else. He insisted on me being myself and he already knew me far better than I thought my mother did. There was no silly story she could tell that would make him think any differently of me.

  I said very little, enjoying my coffee and dessert. I didn’t have to. My mother loves to talk, and she loves to have an audience. James kept me saying just enough that I stayed a part of the conversation without having to carry it.

  It was an odd opportunity to watch James at work. I’d had a glimpse that night at the gallery, but this was different. I watched him charm my mother and convince her he was the greatest thing since sliced bread without really telling her anything about himself. I suppose that was the point. The important thing about him was that he was the man in my life. The rest was just details. And I should have known that next to Dancer James and Artist James and Rock Star James, “Someday I Could Be Your Son-in-Law” James would be a piece of cake for him to pull off. My mother loved being treated like a queen, and that was one thing James was very good at.

  The day the publicity gala arrived, I wondered if my mother would remember that she had called him artistic and tasteful when I mentioned the content of the show might be somewhat risqué. The crew had taken over an entire restaurant inside one of the casino hotels, catered it to the nines, and invited all manner of celebrities, as I guess one does. Becky and Michel were wielding their cell phones as cameras, live-streaming some to the Lord Lightning Internet channel, as well as recording interviews and asking people what they thought the new show would be like. James had kept the information to the public about the actual show very minimal, but nearly everyone there had either seen the “publicity” videos or seen the news about them. I definitely heard the opinion multiple times that the videos must be fake and the difference was whether the people felt fake videos that were made to seem real for the sake of going sensationally viral was a terrible or wonderful publicity tactic.