by Carol Storm
“You’re right,” Kenny said. “What people need right now is important.”
“Huh?” Kick was confused, but just then a smiling Cuban boy came in with iced drinks.
“Something to give you a little energy for the neighborhood festival tonight.” Kenny explained, after thanking his teenage helper in fluent Spanish. “We have people rehearsing right now in the restaurant next door. That’s the reason for all the noise. I wouldn’t have invited you here if I’d known about our prior connection, but since you are here, I need you to come to the festival with me tonight. You need to see first hand how much support I have.”
“I know how much support you have.” Kick sipped her drink, a long sip. “What is it?”
“A classic Cuban daiquiri. Crushed ice, rum, freshly squeezed lime juice, and sugar.” Kenny smiled, a confident, knowing look glowing in his velvety dark eyes. “Try a little more.”
“Why should I? You don’t need alcohol to get me into bed,” Kick muttered wryly. But she drained her daiquiri in three long swallows. “Look here, Master. The Sullivan family cares about the Cuban community. But I can’t come to the neighborhood festival with you tonight. It would look like I’m campaigning for you. But I’m not. I’m campaigning for my father.”
“It would look like the two of us were enjoying an evening of Cuban music and dance.” Kenny handed her a fresh drink, their fingertips brushing intimately over the rim of the glass. “It would look like two hard-working people who like each other going out on a date.”
“Are we ready for a date?” Kick asked. “Won’t that hurt our, uh, other relationship?”
Kenny nodded. “It’s a big risk. But now that I know who you are, I’m ready to try. Frankly, I’d rather convince you than your father. He was my other choice as a guest.”
“Damn it!” Kick could picture her father at the festival, and it wasn’t pretty. Either he would end up screwing some pretty little Cuban girl or else he would get too drunk and promise Kenny the moon. She had just been outmaneuvered, and she knew it. Of course, the idea of dating Kenny was exciting, but that only made her other feelings harder to control. “Listen, I’ll go to the festival with you, but it’s not a date. It’s a deal. I want something in return. At the end of the evening, you announce you’re not in the race.”
“I do?” Kenny Marigold thoughtfully ran his long brown finger around the rim of his glass. “If I drop out, who’s going to take my place? Are you ready to lead my people?”
“Me?” Kick was so surprised she actually pointed a well-manicured finger at herself.
“Yes, you. Your father has charm, but you have courage. You came down here all alone and made your presentation under the most unusual and even frightening circumstances. Most women would have collapsed into tears or abandoned the mission the moment they realized who I was. Your father is a standard big city politician of the old-fashioned, gregarious type. But you could be something special. I can see now why they call you Kick.”
“Thank you, Mast – I mean, Kenny.” Kick felt dazed, watching Kenny’s finger drawing endless figure eights on the frosty surface of his cool glass. He was irresistible as the Master. But could she really handle having a man so in control and gorgeous as a friend? Kick knew she would have to keep reminding herself that this was not a role-playing fantasy.
“You’re not as weak as you pretend to be,” Kenny said quietly. “I am not the man I pretend to be, either. I’m really a gentle man, with a very soft touch.”
“Yeah, right. That’s why you have to spank my bottom like a slave.” Kick enjoyed the wisecrack, and she couldn’t resist a naughty grin. She drank from her glass, wishing she could wash away the fact that she also enjoyed being spanked whenever she got too far out of line.
“The spanking is my right as your Master,” Kenny said, using the title for the first time. He looked so at ease, sitting there behind the desk. He was as much in control as if she were lying naked on the bed and he had tied her hand and foot. “We both enjoy the spanking, Kick. But my hiding my face from you, that was something else. Something personal. You see, although a child like you may enjoy my skills, I have never seen myself as an attractive man.”
“Really?” Kick laughed nervously. “How could you have ever thought otherwise?”
Kenny shrugged, looking aside to study a colorful Cuban painting. “Family problems. My father was not around, and my mother was a very angry woman. She said everything about me was wrong – my clothes, my language, my friends. And even, at times, my face.”
“Oh, Kenny.” Kick hesitated then reached out to take his hand. “You and I have a lot in common, Mr. Marigold. In a way, I’m almost sorry that my father’s going to kick your ass!”
Kenny laughed, his teeth very white and his exotic Cuban features very dark. “You always were a bold one, Kick. Perhaps it’s really the most fearless women by day who make the most bewitching slaves by night.”
“Perhaps.” Kick reached for another drink, wishing she could work up the courage to tell Kenny all about her life, growing up with a cold mother and pitifully weak-willed father. No wonder she had ended up in bed with the Master!
“Listen,” she said, starting to feel just a bit sloshed. “You and I have chemistry, Kenny, and we have this really intense personal connection, too. So why don’t we just stop all this fighting, and you can come and work with me and my father! We need someone like you, someone who’s not into politics for money, and power, and all that stuff. If we had you on our side, we’d help people. I mean, we’d help all the people, all the time. It’d be great!”
“That’s not good enough, Miss Sullivan.” Kenny’s eyes were as black and implacable as night. “You’ll have to convince me that you believe in change, even if your father doesn’t.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” Kick hiccupped loudly.
“We have a few hours before the festival begins,” Kenny informed her. “Why don’t you come home with me and meet my family? Then you’ll know what you’re really up against.”
“What I’m up against?”
“I’m a Cuban, Kick. If you want to win me over, you have to win my family over first.”
“I’m in no condition to meet your mother,” Kick protested. “What are you trying to do, make a fool of me?”
Kenny smiled. “Mother has been waiting for me to bring a nice Cuban girl home for years. But I don’t want a nice Cuban girl. I want you. It’s time for my mother to face the facts.”
“But I don’t think I’d make a very good impression.” Kick bit her full lower lip, unaware of the power of the innocently seductive gesture.
“You’ll make exactly the impression I want you to make,” Kenny said, his no-nonsense manner informing her he was still the Master. His stern eyes dropped to her mouth, seeming to lock in on the enticing curve of her lower lip. “Now finish your drink and let’s go.”
“I will not.” Kick relished the moment of defiance. But curiosity got the better of her. “I’d like to meet your family. But don’t you think it would be better if I laid off the drinking?”
Kenny shrugged. “Suit yourself, Kick. But don’t hope for a miracle. Drunk or sober, my mother’s already made up her mind about you.”
“She doesn’t even know me!”
“You’re not a Cuban, and you’re not a virgin. That’s all she needs to know.” Kenny paused, as though measuring her strength of will. “Sure you don’t want another drink?”
“I’m sure.” Actually, Kick was dying for another drink. But what she wanted even more was Kenny’s respect.
* * * *
“No good . . . just like your father . . . so go then. Muy bien, Go have your fun!” The angry words floated upstairs, waking the girl on the bed from a sound sleep. But before she could get a fix on the conversation, the voices switched back to Spanish.
Kick sat up with a sigh, stretching her limbs and blinking at the light filtering though the lace curtains. The Marigold home was an elegant Moorish survival
of the Twenties, a time when Hialeah was a playground of the rich rather than a proudly working-class Cuban neighborhood. Kick remembered gaping at the splendor of it all as Kenny helped her out of the taxicab. When they entered the house, no-one was home, and she had felt both relieved and disappointed. But then Kenny had picked her up in his arms and carried her upstairs!
She might have resisted if the Master had just wanted to spank her for coming to his office. But he carried her to the bathroom, proclaiming that a shower would help her sober up.
Kick had never showered with the Master before. He lathered her slowly, his fingers covering her with soapy suds from head to toe. Kick shuddered at the shockingly intimate feeling of his hand between her thighs. But Kenny was gentle, stroking her curls and whispering soothing words as she quivered under the steaming water. He knelt to lather her long legs, kissing her curls. Soon she was moaning with every stroke, her nipples aching. Kenny rose and slipped inside her with a growl only when the wetness within equaled the torrents of water streaming from the shower head. When he finally ended the waiting and took her from behind, Kick remembered moaning his name in climax, only to find herself gurgling loudly as the hot water poured into her face!
Kenny had laughed so loudly at the ridiculous noises she made that Kick had totally forgotten who was Master. She whipped around in the narrow space, and began pounding his massive chest with her small fists. But all that happened was that Kenny grabbed her wrists and wrestled her around so he could shield her from the water while they kissed passionately, with thick clouds of steam seeming to rise up from their naked bodies. Before long, he was ready to take her a second time, face to face. They made love as man and woman. As she climaxed a second time, Kick remembered not just her own moans, but the oddly comforting sound of torrents of hot water splashing off the Master’s broad back.
There was more sex after that, of course. There was drying her off sex, and carrying her to the bedroom sex, until at last she fell into a deep sleep while Kenny was buttoning her into a robe. But now Kick was awake again. From the sound of things, Kenny needed her help.
“Good afternoon,” she said, entering the dark, elegantly furnished dining room. It was embarrassing to be wearing nothing but a frilly lace dressing gown in the middle of the day. Kick blushed, but the dark, heavy-set woman in black sitting at the polished dining room table took no notice of her flushed cheeks.
“You must be Kathleen Sullivan.” The woman motioned for Kick to take a seat, her movements calm and regal. “My name is Maria Antonia Marigold. I am Kenny’s mother.”
“How do you do.” Kick glanced at Kenny, who was sitting at the head of the table, in a pressed new suit, looking dark and stunning and hard to fathom. He nodded slightly. “Thanks for letting me crash out here,” she said, trying not to be too obvious. Maria’s gaze was far too knowing. “We had a conference this afternoon,” Kick explained, with dignity. “Stuff about my dad’s campaign and how Kenny could help us out. It was so hot in the office downtown. I felt faint, and Kenny brought me back here to rest.”
“I see.” Maria’s smile was chillier than the ice-cold Cuban coffee which had just been brought into the dining room on a tray. “Miss Sullivan, you are a beautiful young woman. But you are also a very foolish woman if you imagine Kenny’s weakness for you will cause him to abandon his own political ambitions. He will not be swayed by long legs and loose morals.”
“No more, Mother. The young lady is a friend.” Kenny’s voice was low, but very firm.
“Oh please, let’s have this conversation now,” Kick said pleasantly. Kenny had just stood up for her, and that made her feel strong. “More than my father’s campaign is at stake here, Mrs. Marigold. Kenny has enormous potential, but he needs the support of old money, and the experience of working with an established organization. My father wants him, and I want him. And that’s not loose morals. It’s honesty.”
“What Kenny needs is to remember who he is,” Maria said. “His father was not a Cuban, of course, but I am his mother, and I have raised him properly. It’s only mixing with outsiders that has brought out this weakness in him, this need for sinful pleasure.”
“What does that mean?” Kick asked, with a flash of defiance. “Mrs. Marigold, you don’t know Kenny very well if you think that his feelings for me have anything to do with weakness. He’s always in charge. Now I was raised to be a lady, just like you. But I care about Kenny, and I’m willing to accept him for who he is. It’s a shame his own family can’t do as much.”
“I have tried my best to be a good mother,” Maria huffed. “I have taught Kenny that you can never trust anyone who is not of your own family, your own blood. I learned that lesson the hard way, long ago.” Her words were bitter, and she fell into a brooding silence.
Kenny had been watching Kick all the while. His face was hard to read, dark and intense. But in the end all he said was, “finish your coffee, Kick, so we can go to the festival. Tonight I want everyone to see that I’m with Joe Sullivan’s daughter.”
* * * *
Kick enjoyed the Cuban Festival. There were lots of press around, but most of them were from El Diario, the local, Spanish-speaking paper. They seemed more interested in Kick’s impressions of Cuban music and food than Kenny’s rumored run for her father’s long-held seat. Nevertheless, Kick worked the crowd, chatting up all kinds of people. Once or twice she caught Kenny watching her closely, as though evaluating her political skills. There were all kinds of spicy dishes and lots of dancing. Kick was wearing traditional Cuban dress, a flower print skirt and a straw hat. Kenny’s younger sister had lent it to her for the occasion.
“Rosa is very shy,” Kenny explained, while they were dancing cheek to cheek to a slow, sensual Cuban beat. “Her one ambition is to go to a public school where she can meet boys and not feel horribly out of place. I think she admires you enormously.”
“Bad choice of heroes,” Kick sighed. She remembered the shy girl who had served her coffee, her huge frightened eyes communicating clearly though she dared not speak.
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Kenny said quietly. “Standing up to Mama is an achievement. None of the neighborhood girls ever did.”
“Why is she so set against you dating outside people?” Kick asked.
“Because she doesn’t want me repeating her mistakes.”
“Oh.” Kick sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. Kenny was a real catch, all right. But his high ideals and his old-fashioned mother were both against her. Kick felt like crying.
After the slow dance, Kick went to the podium and made a speech about Kenny’s charisma and high principles. She made it sound like he had always been totally loyal to the Sullivan family. This was not true, but it was good politics. Kick got a nice round of applause. But then Kenny got a much larger round of applause when he thanked her for coming to the Calle Ocho Cuban Festival by pulling her close and kissing her!
That unexpected kiss rocked Kick right down to her toes. It was outrageous and unprofessional, and it might even be a put-on or an act. But with the cameras flashing and people applauding she had little choice but to go with it. Kenny kissed her fiercely, bringing heat to her cheeks and making her toes curl. Yet when the moment ended, Kenny was every inch the politician, laughing and waving to the cheering crowd while Kick just stood there dazed. Flash bulbs were popping all over. Finally someone called her name, and Kick woke up. She flashed a dazzling smile, hoping that her picture would be in the paper.
But it was the kiss that made the front page of the Miami Herald the next morning.
* * * *
“You realize what this looks like, don’t you?” Joe Sullivan pushed aside a huge plate of fried eggs and fatty sausages and held up the morning paper. “It looks like you’re supporting Kenny Marigold. It looks like you’re campaigning against your own father!”
“You don’t have to shout, Dad.” Kick had a headache from her late night. She massaged her throbbing temples with her fingers. “Sometimes I
think it doesn’t matter whether we win or not. You seem like you’d be happier doing something else anyway.”
“Something else?” Joe’s bluster vanished at once. “Baby, how can you say that? I’m no quitter. Do you think I’m going to lie down and die just because your mom left me?”
“No, of course not.” Kick felt ashamed and guilty. She couldn’t just abandon her father for someone else. She had to make him understand what she’d seen. “The time has come, Dad. We need to pass the torch, with class. Not just to help the right person get elected, but so we can move on with our lives. Kenny Marigold is the real thing. He’s disciplined, focused, totally in charge. He can accomplish all the things you and I can’t.”
Joe’s round face wore an expression of almost comical disbelief. “Don’t you believe in me anymore, baby? Don’t you want me to win?”
“Of course I believe in you, Dad. I love you!” Kick’s voice cracked. She burst into tears.
Joe Sullivan comforted his daughter, sounding almost relieved as he held her close. “You’re the one who should be running for office. You’re the best daughter anyone ever had.”
“Mom never thought so,” Kick sniffled. Her tears surged faster. “Mom always said I needed discipline. She said I was weak, soft inside, like you!”
Her father shushed her gently. “Madeline was only tough on you because she knew there was no point in being tough on me. I love you, Kick. I’m going to win to prove it.”
Kick swallowed her tears. “I’m going to help you.” Deep down, she felt like she had to be loyal, even though another part of her sensed she was making the wrong decision. “Dad, I’m sorry about last night. The photographers just happened to catch something casual that looked sort of sexy. But you’ll have to work extra hard if you want to beat Kenny Marigold.”