Goody Two Shoes

by Cooper, Laura

  And the man issues a small chuckle.

  “Tell me you did not give him bourbon?” the sharp recognizable voice comes from behind me; I turn like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

  “Well, I uh, he looked thirsty,” I posture in front of Ellen Devereux.

  “Why didn’t you give him water if he’s thirsty?”

  “He asked for bourbon,” I shrug.

  “Mr. Carmichael.”

  Here it comes, the Donald Trump quote of all time…

  “This man is tied to this chair because he asked to be. He requires discomfort for release, but he’s tiring of it. He wants to give up. If I let him go, then he’s un-satisfied and as a result un-happy with himself. He needs me to help him push through this, and I’ve promised I would. Bourbon is only going to numb his uneasiness. I need him raw.”

  “Raw?”

  “Without anesthesia of any kind.”

  Again I turn and study the man in the corner. His head is down again, and the muscles in his arms are twitching. I’m caught between trusting Ellen’s judgment and dialing 911.

  “Since you can’t decide what to do about this, Quinn, I’m going to let you be in charge. I’ve absolutely got to make my nail appointment today, so Jonathon will be coming in for today’s meeting.”

  I nod, because what else is there to do but stand here wide mouthed.

  “So when you decide that he’s ready to be un-tied, you can just cut through the ropes. Here use this.” She places a silver handled knife on the sofa table behind her. It looks as if it was last used during the Civil War, but the blade is sharpened and shiny.

  “I um, I just don’t think this is a good idea at all, Ellen.”

  Jonathon Galloway strides into the Library looking fresh and showered. He’s wearing gym shorts and a Reel Fishing tee shirt. His flip-flops glitter with specks of sand leftover from another day. Already I really like this guy; he’s got it all but it hasn’t gone to his head. As Ellen walks towards her conquest in the corner, I suddenly realize why he’s so well behaved. Talk about ruling with an iron hand.

  “What’s not a good idea?” Jonathon quips on his way to the Bourbon Bar.

  “Quinn can’t decide whether to report me as abusive or help me.”

  “Ah! The classic dilemma. Been there before. As a matter of fact, that’s what I want to talk to you about today. The first time I saw a grown man tied naked; not to a chair, mind you, but to a pole on that occasion.”

  “It’s settled then. Either leave him how he is until I get back or cut him loose. But I’m warning you he can be a real asshole when he’s not happy.”

  “We’ll check on him from time to time,” Jonathon answers flippantly. “Don’t worry about it. Go get your nails done and get that gorgeous ass back to me.” He pinches her behind and bends low to kiss her lips.

  I’m still not sure this is such a great plan but as long as Jonathon is here with me I suppose I’ll at least have an interesting cell mate. I settle into my leather arm chair and turn on my recorder as Ellen prances from the room.

  “So let’s get this party started!” Jonathon plops onto the sofa across from me.

  And we do.

  Jonathon Galloway, 1972

  Jonathon couldn’t possibly have been more unaware of the actual purpose of the club. He climbed the staircase above the Grand Ballroom at the Charleston Yacht Club with overwhelming dread. If he didn’t consider it a slap in the face to his father, he’d be in Ellen’s bed right now instead of this tedious affair. As a matter of fact, he’d rather be just about anywhere other than here.

  The floor mirrored his steps as he strode across the upstairs landing towards the double doors where he had been instructed to introduce himself. As he neared the intricately carved cherry doors, he realized suddenly that introducing himself would not be necessary.

  “Hey Robbie!” he burst with a smile. Jonathon’s mind drifted back four months to the last time Robbie practically dragged him kicking and screaming from the cottage behind the Devereux home. He withheld a laugh as he held out his hand to Hawthorne. But Robbie postured professionally, took his hand and shook it politely.

  “So old chap, how do I measure up tonight?” Jonathon said with a hint of an English accent.

  Hawthorne stepped back and scrutinized Jonathon. Stepping close again, he made a small adjustment to Jonathon’s tie and exclaimed that he was, “Dressed handsomely, as expected.” Jonathon stood back and winked at Hawthorne who returned a hint of a smile and reached to open the broad doors in front of them.

  The sound blared from the room, “Oh say can you see by the dawns early light…” Taken aback by the deep tones, Jonathon walked through the doors his hand plastered to his chest without thought. In Charleston, men still respected the flag. It’s hard to disrespect the essence of our country, even during this war, in the very place where so many of our own Grandparents fought for the freedom to burn it. And across the country his college buddies were doing just that. Already two of his fraternity brothers had left for Vietnam; they hadn’t come back. But this very song had been scribbled on a piece of paper just beyond the very windows of this room, and it had meaning here. Jonathon’s voice joined the rest of the tenors, most of whom had also been caught in motion as they held their cocktails to their chests, or their burning cigars, or both. The song ended with gusto and Jonathon wandered fully into the room.

  His father caught his eye from the corner of the bar and motioned him over. Jonathon respected the ship builder, even when the rest of the world was deep in depression, saving their last pennies for bread; Jonathon Galloway Senior’s company thrived. His employee’s never missed a paycheck, and their wives and children continued to have the best of everything his father could help them provide. Glancing about the room, he found the same to be true of every man in attendance. The Georgetown Steel Mill that had forged through tough economic times without a hitch was represented, the cotton factory that had sustained Charleston throughout the centuries was represented, and in fact, every successful major manufacturer in the state was present. Attorneys, newspaper owners, builders; every icon of South Carolina business was holding a cocktail around him. He wondered how a celebrity gathering of this sort could even get by without television reporters lurking outside.

  And he moved across the room with a hesitant step. What am I even doing here? What is it Father/Son night at the Club? Suddenly he felt clumsy, like a teenager stepping into a new school on the first day of class, out of place and awkward. “Good evening, Father!”

  “Good evening, Son! Glad you decided to join us this evening! I have to admit I thought you’d be a no show.”

  “I didn’t think I had an option, sir!” Jonathon smiled tentatively at the giant in front of him. Jonathon Senior was a towering, forceful man whose blue eyes still held a mysterious twinkle. As a toddler, he’d often fantasized that his dad was Santa and would whisk him away in his sleigh when Mother scolded him. That was before he discovered girls. And he discovered them in the first grade. A thought of the curvaceous Miss Quincy with her chalk in hand could still give him a hard-on. The image of her leaning over his drawing of a tree could still give him inspiration when none was available. But tonight Santa seemed more content with his ancient bourbon than with naughty or nice. Jonathon scanned the room with the distinct impression that he’d just been caught by Satan’s arctic grasp. A chill roamed through him as he sidled up to the bar and requested one of whatever his dad was having.

  He sipped his drink which had been served neat, in crystal bearing the same crest that his father wore on the pocket of his navy blazer. “So what’s this all about, Dad? I don’t measure up here amongst these celebrities.”

  His father took a drink and looked at him with somber eyes, “Exactly, they are celebrities of the business world. And when you take over for me, you’ll be one of them. You do still want to take my place don’t you?”

  The sad truth is that my father’s business had fascinated me since
I was a pup. At a time when it seemed like everyone else my age was busy rebelling against their parent’s wishes, I built tiny ocean liner models at my kitchen counter. I moved the parts around until I’m satisfied that the new design could only benefit the structure. At fifteen I suggested fiberglass panels that would fireproof the engine compartment of a Norwegian made ship that had suffered countless accidents. It was in my blood, and there was nothing I could do about it, so I nodded.

  “You can’t lead unless know how to follow, Son,” Senior disbursed. “And these guys here all know how to do that. This Club will teach you that and all the things you absolutely have to know to succeed in business.”

  “So I take it other men my age are invited, or am I the only guinea pig under 80 here?”

  Senior burst a deep chuckle, “Actually, there are three young men invited this evening. Look there, Dempsey Devereux is here. Damn, Horace would be so proud of him tonight. Peter Gilbert was invited but we were taking bets on who would show up and who wouldn’t.”

  Jonathon grinned, “So you lost a bet tonight?”

  His father nodded and gazed off into the room. Jonathon’s eyes followed his to Dempsey Devereux, who was talking in earnest with Post and Courier owner Marcus Pringle. As kid’s the older Devereux children never had time for his childish antics and mainly tried to avoid him trailing after them around during the summer’s he spent on the Island. Thus, Jonathon didn’t know much about Dempsey other than he was Ellen’s older brother, but he might as well use this chance to make friends.. Eyes turned to the new arrival that Hawthorne was leading into the room. Peter Gilbert stood in front of the room as awkwardly as Jonathon had a few minutes ago. Except now Hawthorne was behind him bolting the door. It didn’t escape him that Robbie Hawthorne was now wearing a navy blazer. Son of a bitch. He was one of them!

  “Excuse me, Son. Go over there and guide Mr. Gilbert to the bar to get a drink. We’re getting started.” Senior lunged across the room towards the podium.

  Jonathon met Peter halfway across the room, “Hey man, how are you?”

  Peter smiled. They’d played intramural baseball together and he held those memories fond. “Great! What the hell is going on?”

  Jonathon took a sip of his bourbon. “I have no fucking clue, but let’s get you a drink because I think we’re going to need it.”

  The microphone squelched with a bone shattering clang before it registered his father’s voice. “Welcome friends. As you all know, we have invited three of Charleston’s youngest businessmen to our club. I believe you all know Dempsey Devereux, the son of our clubs founder. Peter Gilbert, the son of Gilbert Textiles owner Paul Gilbert. And of course, I’m honored by the invitation of my own son Jonathon Galloway, Jr.” Senior paused as though parched from his speech and took a long sip of his drink.

  Dempsey, Peter, and Jonathon glanced around awkwardly caught in the spotlight for the moment. Each of us staring like deer standing in the middle of the road as a car careened in our direction. It seemed as though not a single one of us had a clue as to why we were here.

  Senior continued, “In the interest of forward movement, times what they are and such, we have voted to welcome these youngsters so we can get started. Before the year is over, they each will take over for their fathers. I for one am looking forward to beating all your asses on the golf course.” Mr. Galloway paused to take another long sip of his drink, and smiled conspiratorially.

  It wasn’t news. If Jonathon didn’t take over the company he could be drafted. Times were tough; we were at war and running thin on able bodies.

  “First order of business, however, is that we all share our sadness with Dempsey in the loss of his father. Dempsey, your father was a great man and meant a lot to this club.” Somber heads nodded in agreement in Dempsey’s direction. “Applause for our faithful Hamilton Hawthorne is needed as well. He is retiring but his son Robbie is going to step in and fill his shoes. I think we can all agree that we’d be destitute without a Hawthorne to keep us organized.” Applause took over the room and men yelled, “Hear, hear!”

  Jonathon glanced at Robbie who was now standing in front of a set of doors on the other side of the circular room. His deep skin blushed at the attention. He nodded at Robbie when their eyes met, as though they had some whopping club secret they had to maintain. Yet Robbie seemed confident in his mysterious new position, which gave Jonathon cause to wonder again, what the hell is all the fuss about? It all seemed rather hokey to him. Why couldn’t his father just sit him down for a drink and tell him what he needed to know? It seemed like a lot of pomp and circumstance to pass along a few probably well worn phrases of rhetoric.

  “Now gentlemen, Hawthorne will open the doors to the theatre,” Senior bellowed into the microphone. It squelched again as he turned it to the off position. Jonathon was startled by the movement towards the opening doors. Of course a training film, that’s exactly what he needed; something that would once and for all eradicate this asinine mystery. Ellen was right; there was a kink in this rope.

  Hawthorne opened the double doors to allow them a rather overly done formal entrance. Tiny lights along the aisle guided them to the rows of red velvet seats. Jonathon followed Dempsey and Peter towards the front of the screen where Hawthorne was pointing them forward with a flashlight.

  The three new members settled into their seats, glancing about the room as though a Broadway show was beginning. Out of habit Jonathon turned around to look at the hole in the wall that held the projector. He was never sure why he did that in theatres, perhaps to remind himself that it was just a movie not real life. In this case there was no hole in the wall, no table set up in the back of the room holding a projector, his head flipped forward to the screen in front of him. Looking at it carefully, it wasn’t a screen after all; it was made of glass, like a giant aquarium or a two way mirror. Geez will these fools stop with the whodunit? But he settled in for the show. Maybe someone was getting ready to be interrogated? More likely some dim skit performed by overweight middle aged men.

  After everyone was seated, the lights in the room went to solid blackness, instantly it reminded him again of Ellen, how they used to play tag in the total darkness of the forts on the island as children. The light behind the glass wall went on with blinding ferocity. For a moment he was sure his retinas were scarred; little rings of green, yellow and blue floated through his struggling vision. Dempsey, sitting next to him was squirming in his seat. Peter began to cough a wretched smoker’s choke. As Jonathon’s eyes adjusted, he caught his breath. Holy Mother of God! Dempsey next to him managed, “Oh shit!” and Peter continued to choke on his own breath. Jonathon started to rise from his seat, appalled by what he saw in front of him but the stern hands of his father pinned he and Dempsey to their chairs. Gilbert’s father behind him slapped his son’s back in an effort to dislodge his lungs.

  The stage set for them was frighteningly real; this was no skit like he’d ever seen. More like a real life peep show! It was the characters that flabbergasted him. A man was naked and chained with heavy leaden rings to a steel pole. Hands above his head, his muscles rippled with sweat and strain, his cock straight as an arrow. Jonathon stared at the scene, praying that since the man was blindfolded he didn’t have any idea he was being watched. Of course it was the only explanation. But nothing explained the gigantic woody Dempsey had going on.

  Suddenly it became clear. Onto the stage strutted a temptress of such magnitude that Jonathon felt his own manhood spring to life. Her body was rigid, not in anger but determination, as if she had a definitive mission. Jonathon was trapped at the sight of her ample breasts held by a black leather bra, and her pale neck was adorned with a matching collar. Her stomach was narrow, tanned, and covered with perspiration. A leather thong barely covered her thatch and only a small portion of her buttocks as she walked. Her identity was carefully hidden by a black leather mask, yet for a moment, Jonathon thought he recognized her. The thought was too obscene to believe, so it was dismissed.<
br />
  The dominatrix reached the trapped man and prodded him with her finger, “Tell me. Do you consent?”

  His whisper could barely be heard, but it was a definite, “Yes.”

  The woman faced her audience, “This man has been attached here throughout the day because he has been the constant source of my irritation and now must be punished. Do you all agree?”

  The room blasted with applause from the men behind Jonathon. What the fuck? She hadn’t actually given a reason she was punishing him, had he cheated on her? Left cracked eggshells in the kitchen sink? Jonathon hoped they gave out a set of rules after the demonstration, because he sure as hell didn’t want to break them. He’d memorize those suckers to the letter.

  The woman took a paddle from the lone table on the stage. The thing looked a lot like a ping pong paddle to Jonathon, or maybe more like the threatening homemade paddle that hung on the wall of the principal in high school to warn misbehaving teens. Whack! The sound of the first hit echoed through the room. On the stage the man’s knees buckled. His ass turned beet red in an instant. Another whack! Jonathon saw his jaw tighten on the gag in his mouth; he was struggling to say something. It was clear even from this distance that his knees were shaking, yet his cock remained rock hard, standing at attention, the lone soldier being chastised. The woman leaned close to him brushing her breasts against his arm, she turned to the crowd, and “He says he is ready for me. I think not!”

  Instead she went to the table and grabbed a whip; its end feathered out into many individual leather straps. Whisk! She wrapped his back with the device. He moaned loudly, nodding his head as if begging the woman for more. Whisk! The whip struck against his thighs. Whisk! Again, over his calves. Whisk! Again, underneath his groin. Jonathon noticed Dempsey shifting in his seat next to him, the son of a bitch was getting off on this! Turning towards Peter, he realized that Peter too had a massive bulge in the front of his pants. Meanwhile Jonathon’s cock seemed to be running for cover with every strike. He wasn’t sure it wasn’t discreetly lodged in his own ass at this point.