by Ward, Deena
A new blow fell Tuesday night. One of my best friends, Sherry, called and told me she had heard rumors about me, rumors about me being fired and about a kinky sex video on the Internet. Apparently, she was the last of my friends to hear the rumor, and the only one with the courage to call and ask me about it.
I could have lied, but she would have known it was a lie, and it would have been between us. So I told the truth, and let that come between us. If I were to be parted from my friends, it would be for the truth.
I didn’t give her any details, beyond the fact that I was filmed without my knowledge. Details weren’t necessary. I was certain she had heard plenty already. She told me she was sorry that all this had happened to me, said it didn’t change anything for her.
It did, though. I heard it in her voice that she thought differently about me now, that I made her uncomfortable. And Sherry was the most open-minded of my friends.
So of course, knowing I was outed to my small circle of friends led me to enjoy a particularly nasty Tuesday night and Wednesday.
It’s difficult to say how long I would have imposed myself on the patient Hoytes, wallowing in my misery, if I hadn’t watched Elaine’s home videos.
Wednesday night, Elaine played me recordings of her family, showing them on vacations, special events like Christmas with the kids, camping, all the usual things families do together. I only paid half attention, not really listening to Elaine’s chatter.
It was just another scene of a happy family. I had the passing thought that it would be horrible if anything happened to break their family apart. And that’s when it struck me. When I first met Elaine, she mentioned that she and Ron had scened with Michael in the past. My God.
I turned to Elaine and interrupted her mid-word. “Have you checked to make sure that Michael didn’t record you and Ron when you were with him?”
She looked thrown by the abrupt change of topic. Then she gave a little shrug. “Oh yes. Gibson went through Michael’s files for us. Just to make sure. It wasn’t likely, since it was only twice and both times were in public rooms at Private Residence.”
“So Gibson didn’t find anything?”
“No,” she assured me with a gentle smile. “There was nothing. Michael wasn’t able to film at the club.”
I took a deep breath. I was relieved. And appalled. Appalled that all this time, I had not once thought about the Hoytes and how they might have been affected, too.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I should have asked you this before. I’m ...”
Elaine reached over and patted my hand. “It’s okay, honey. You had other things to worry about.”
I didn’t, though, not really. I knew, from what Gibson had told me in his letter from weeks before, that he monitored Michael’s site to make certain all the women in the videos were paid and had agreed to be filmed. My own videos and photos hadn’t been up long enough for Gibson’s team to check my assent before Michael revealed everything to me himself.
But we didn’t know about Michael’s private library, his secret stash, not back then, before Michael posted my files.
I knew about the library now, though, had known for a week, and hadn’t thought once about Ron and Elaine, or about any other women who might have been recorded without their knowledge. I was disgusted with myself. To not even consider the well-being of the Hoytes was irrefutable evidence that I had sunk too far.
I realized I needed to snap out of my orgy of self pity. I had obsessed long enough, and I had imposed on the Hoytes far too long. It was time to pick myself up and make some decisions about what I was going to do.
I spent the rest of that night doing exactly that.
The next morning, I woke early and met Elaine in the kitchen before she left for work. I thanked her for everything she and Ron had done for me, and told her I could never repay her for her kindness.
I told her I was returning to my apartment that morning. I would be packing up some more of my things, and then I was leaving town. Permanently. A new start somewhere else, to begin a new life.
Of course, I expected Elaine to be surprised by my decision, and she was. She tried to talk me out of it, which I also expected. What I hadn’t expected was for her to put up less of a fight than I anticipated. I felt encouraged by her weak argument, believed it meant she agreed that I would be better off starting over elsewhere.
We hugged our goodbyes, vowing to keep in touch, with me promising to call her every day with updates in my travels, since I didn’t have a clear destination in mind yet. She tried to get me to stay one last night, to give Ron a chance to say his goodbyes, too, but I didn’t think I could stand another goodbye. I said I’d call him later in the day.
Not long after Elaine departed for work, I was packed and had my things loaded in my car. I left a note for the Hoytes, thanking them for everything they did for me, then I locked up their house and drove away, trying not to think about how much I’d miss them.
I had a few stops to make on my way home. It was difficult being out in public, and even though I rationally knew that there was virtually no chance anyone I met that day could have seen my video, my irrational side made my heart pound every time someone glanced my way.
I needed a change in look, anything that would boost my confidence and make me feel less recognizable. I stopped at a walk-in hair salon.
While I waited for an available stylist, I had a mental flash of movies where women cut off their hair in times of trial, as rebellious acts of empowerment, or as de-sexualizing acts of self-loathing. I asked myself if I were doing that. No, I wasn’t in the salon to gear up for a fight, or to punish myself. I simply wanted to hide.
When the hairdresser had me in her chair, I told her to do what she wanted with me, but to make it completely different from what I already had. She did as I asked.
She gave me a short, chunky, razored-edged style. My hair was now shorter than I had ever worn it, barely reaching the nape of my neck. I liked it. I looked different, and younger in spite of the dark circles under my eyes. When I got up from the chair and stepped over the heaped pile of my shorn black hair on the floor, I walked away from the recognizable old me.
I found a shop in the same strip mall that sold sunglasses and I bought a pair with big round lenses. With my new hair and sunglasses, I felt secure in my anonymity for the first time in days and days.
It was all pure nonsense, the need for disguise. I knew it, too. But I didn’t care. I had to do it and couldn’t deny myself. When I made my next stop at a packing store to buy boxes, I wasn’t afraid of someone sneering at me or leering. The lessened stress more than made up for the knowledge that I was acting unreasonably.
I got some cash from an ATM then I headed home. The walk through my building was something of a gauntlet, but I met no one on the way to my apartment.
It was a daunting task, trying to think of everything I needed to get done before I could leave. Impatient to be on the road, I considered abandoning most of my things, letting my landlord deal with the disposal of my furniture and whatever else I couldn’t take with me. I compromised on buckling down to work and doing what I could.
I had hardly begun, was just starting to pack up important papers, when my buzzer sounded. I flinched, immediately thinking of Michael. But no, it couldn’t be him. Gibson’s last report was that he believed Michael had left the country.
I went over to the door and pushed the button on the call box with some dread. “What do you want?” was my terse opening.
A manly voice responded, “Nonnie, buzz me in, please.”
Well, hell. It was Gibson. I felt annoyed, and fought down the little thrill that grew in my chest when I heard his voice.
“What do you want?” I repeated.
“I want you to let me in.”
I sighed, and buzzed him up. I opened my door and waited for him to make his way to my apartment. Crap, crap, crap. I didn’t want to see him before I left, didn’t want the reminder of what I’d lost. Didn’
t want anything to fuel the growing anger I felt toward him.
When he stepped through the doorway and looked at me, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “You cut your hair.”
“It was an act of empowerment,” I said, closing the door and waving a hand at a chair.
He made a hmm sound as he sat down, unbuttoning his suit coat in his usual fashion. His dark eyes followed me as I took a seat on the sofa.
“It looks good,” he said. “But you’ve lost weight, and you’re too pale.”
“Thank you. And you’re not my mother.”
He didn’t respond, remaining still, his attention focused on me, his expression fixed and unreadable per usual.
I asked, “Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you. I wanted to tell you that we’ve tracked Michael to South America. He took a flight to Brazil, but it looks like he may have traveled from there to another country. We’re getting closer every day.”
“Why bother with it anymore? The damage is done. You took care of everything else, so there’s nothing we need him to do. What’s the point?”
“Closure.”
I sighed, shrugged. “I appreciate that, but you should just let it go. That’s what I’m doing.”
“No you’re not. You’re running away.”
A few heartbeats of time passed while I considered my response. “I’m moving on. That’s different.”
“Fine,” he said in a level voice, “and I’ve got the perfect place for you to do that. There’s a cottage on my estate. You’ll move into it today.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No, it’s a safe place for you to stay while you figure out your next step. There are extensive grounds so you can get some exercise, get out of doors. Xavier will be happy to cook for you and you can help Paulina with the gardening if you’d like.”
I stared at him. Waited for him to say more. Nothing followed. I said, “If you’d excuse me a moment.”
He didn’t even blink. “Of course.”
I got up, grabbed my phone and headed into my bedroom, shutting the door behind me. I quick-dialed Elaine. She answered in short order.
“Don’t take my head off,” she said in lieu of hello.
“Gibson’s in my living room. You shouldn’t have told him I’m leaving.”
“I was just saving him the trouble of having to chase after you, honey, and saving you some gas money.”
“You shouldn’t have done it. He wants me to move into a stupid cottage on his estate.”
“Sounds perfect. I expect to be invited over for a tour soon.”
I exhaled loudly. “I can’t do it.”
“Of course you can. It’s exactly where you need to be right now. Lots of privacy so you can get some fresh air and exercise. Clear your head.”
“But,” I said, trying to steady myself so my voice wouldn’t break, “he doesn’t want me.”
“What?”
“He doesn’t want me. He’s only doing this because of guilt.”
She made a loud snorting sound. “You need a reality check. Do you understand what that man has been doing for you? The expense he’s gone to? The risk? I doubt he’s slept any more than you have. He’s worked his ass off.”
“I know, I know. But it’s because he feels responsible for what happened.”
“Honey, I love you, but really now. You’ve gotta wake up. What he’s done for you ... well, a man doesn’t go to that kind of trouble for a woman he doesn’t want.”
“You don’t know Gibson. He’s got a supercharged sense of responsibility.”
I could practically hear Elaine’s eyes rolling from afar. “When you’ve lived as long as I have ...”
I interrupted, “Don’t start on your I’m older and wiser stuff. I know what I’m talking about. You haven’t seen him with his employees, at his business. He’s not just their boss, he’s like their caretaker or something. He works for them more than they work for him, if you know what I mean.”
“I do. But being responsible and wanting you aren’t mutually exclusive.”
I hadn’t wanted to say it out loud, yet felt she wasn’t leaving me any choice. “I’m ruined, Elaine. A man like him can’t be with someone like me, someone who’s been in a porno.”
“What?” she said more like an exclamation than a question. “This isn’t 1850. Hell, it’s not even 1950. You’re ruined. What kind of nonsense is that? Seems like half the women on television have a sex tape these days.”
“Well, Gibson wouldn’t be with them, either.”
She sighed. “Fine. Have it your way. Don’t go live on a fancy estate with private grounds and who knows what all classy things he’s got going on out there. What do you want for supper?”
“Huh?”
“For supper. What do you want? Ron mentioned spaghetti last night and I was thinking it sounded good if you’re on board.”
“I’m not going to be there, Elaine. I’m leaving.”
“No you’re not. You have two choices. Go live in splendor with a handsome, single man, or get hauled back to my house by my big, burly husband. Pick one.”
“Dammit, I can leave if I want and you were on board with this earlier.”
“I was not,” she said with force. “I just thought you’d be reasonable about it when Gibson came to collect you. Obviously I was wrong about that.”
We argued on in the same vein for a while longer, me insisting I had free will and her insisting I could have all the free will I wanted as long as I did as I was told.
Finally, she said, “Nonnie, you’ve got no business being out on the road alone. You’re not going to find any answers out there. Everything you need to know is sittin’ in your living room right now, waitin’ for you to get off the phone.”
I didn’t know. Maybe she was right. But I didn’t think I could handle knowing for certain what Gibson thought of me now. It was better to assume he didn’t want me, while cherishing a tiny hope that he actually might. Better that than to know for certain he did not.
I said, “Spaghetti sounds fine for supper.”
“Okay, honey. If that’s what you want. There’s plenty of time, I guess.”
I tried to ignore how sad she sounded. We said goodbye and I primed myself to return to Gibson.
When I entered the living room, he was sitting where I’d left him, looking as blandly polite as ever. Something about that mask of his rubbed me the wrong way of a sudden.
I said, “I’m going back to Elaine’s house.”
No response, physical or verbal, for a moment or two, then he asked, smoothly, “Did you forget something there?”
“I meant I’m moving back there, to live, for a while.”
“No, you’re moving into my cottage. I told you that.”
I stood beside the sofa, my hand resting on the curved cushion of the back. “I’m going back to Elaine’s house.”
“You’re moving into my cottage.”
We stared at one another. He had to have been thinking, as was I, of another time he was here, telling me he wanted me to move in with him. But this time was different.
He wasn’t asking me to move in with him. This time he offered me a cottage of my own. I had no idea what my face looked like in that moment, but I doubted it was as blank as Gibson’s. That mask. Always with the mask.
I said, “Fuck me.”
Chapter 21
I shocked myself. Had no idea where that came from. Wanted to take it back. Then he blinked. I saw a twitch in his jaw. And I realized I didn’t want to take it back, and that I meant it, in both of the ways the phrase might be taken.
“Excuse me?” he asked.
“You heard me,” I said, and began kicking off my shoes.
I watched him as I yanked my t-shirt over my head, tossing the shirt aside. His eyes flicked down to my chest, then back up to my face. I reached behind my back, undid the hooks on my bra and threw it after the shirt.
Muscles twitched in his jaw again,
his gaze lay steady on my bared breasts.
He said, “Put your shirt back on.”
I responded by unbuttoning and unzipping my jeans. Within seconds I was stepping out of both pants and panties, tossing them away.
I stood before him naked, breathing in quick and shallow breaths.
He visibly swallowed, looked at my pussy, and unconsciously pulled at the fabric above his knee.
I said, “Fuck me.”
He raised his eyes, meeting my gaze. “Why are you doing this?”
I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, then said carefully, “Because I’m lonely and I’m hurt and I’m kind of hating you. And maybe if you fuck me I won’t feel that way anymore.”
A heatrbeat of time passed. And another. Then he changed. It was as if another person materialized in the room with me, taking Gibson’s place. His dark eyes turned nearly black and his lids lowered.
He stood up in a smooth motion, shrugging off his jacket as he rose. Then he loosened and removed his tie, unbuttoned his collar and cuffs, rolled up his shirt sleeves. All the while, he never broke eye contact with me, not even for an instant.
He stepped toward me, and my knees trembled slightly when his hands closed around my upper arms and he turned me, pushing me backward against the wall. My back pressed flat against the cool drywall as he raised my arms over my head, clasping my wrists together in one of his strong hands.
He wasn’t Gibson; he was something new, someone other.
The thumping of my heart was an expectant rhythm in my chest, tightening the winding coil in my belly.
He leaned in, his mouth mere inches from mine. “You think you can use your body to control me.” His free hand closed over my breast and squeezed hard, “You think that because your breasts are beautiful that I can’t stop myself from touching you.”
His fingers dug into my flesh until I gasped and said “no.”
He released my breast only to reach up and pinch my bottom lip between his fingertips. “And these lips. You think I can’t resist a chance to bite that sweet flesh again, to sink my teeth into you, see how far I can go before I break the skin, draw blood.”