The Fetish Queen, Part One: Reborn

by Camden, Nicole

  “You weren’t kidding about the cats,” she said to Mary, whose back was to her. She could hear the dog, Atticus, barking like a madman inside.

  “I know—aren’t they crazy?”

  “Uh-huh,” Lille agreed, telling herself that she didn’t believe in omens. She even liked cats . . . in limited quantity.

  Mary finally managed to get the stubborn lock on the front door open and Atticus dashed out, dancing around the two of them on two legs before he spotted the cats and took off.

  “Atticus, stop,” Mary yelled at him. “Here.” She handed Lille the bag that she’d carried to the beach and went after the suicidal white thing, who was facing off two of the bigger females, bouncing excitedly on stiff legs as they eyed him malevolently.

  Mary scooped him up before he lost his other eye and came back to Lille, laughing.

  “He’s nuts.” Mary shook her head, and the two of them joined Lille in the narrow hallway that led to the living room. There was a door to the immediate right of the hall that Lille hadn’t noticed when she’d been in the house earlier.

  “What’s this room?” She opened the door and stopped suddenly.

  “Right now?” Mary chuckled at Lille’s horrified expression. “It’s kind of a catch-all.”

  “It’s a disaster.” A piano was buried beneath broken pieces of furniture, boxes, and piles of clothes.

  Mary nodded. “It didn’t look that bad before the break-in, but they really damaged the piano, so it’ll have to be repaired. I haven’t gotten around to it yet; neither Max nor John plays piano, though Max plays the mandolin.”

  “Does he?” Lille pressed her lips together. “You wouldn’t be attempting to make him look good in order to get us together, would you?”

  Mary shrugged and looked innocent.

  “I’ve already decided to fuck him,” Lille remarked casually, “so you needn’t bother.”

  “You have?” Mary set Atticus down on the floor, where he promptly sat and looked adorable. Lille couldn’t help grinning at the little shit. He’d made her forget about her dread, which had been ridiculous anyway.

  “Yes, of course. He’s gorgeous and completely shallow. We’ll get along splendidly, so long as he does what he’s told.”

  Lille heard Mary snort as they made their way to the living room. Lille dropped the little cooler and the beach bag onto the couch and went into the kitchen for some ice water. She heard Mary following behind with the little white dog at her heels.

  Mary sat on one of the barstools at the center island while Lille located two glasses.

  “This is a great kitchen,” Lille commented, admiring the granite countertops as she filled two glasses with ice. “You have lemon?”

  “In the fridge,” Mary answered, sounding distracted.

  Lille cut the lemon into slices and expertly garnished the glasses with them before turning to Mary and setting one in front of her, then she waited patiently for Mary to spit out whatever she had to say about Max.

  Mary pulled her lips in and pressed them together, squinting her eyes like an assistant about to impart bad news to an evil boss. “Max is not really the does-what-he’s-told type,” she offered carefully.

  Lille looked smug. “Sweetie, no offense, but you don’t know much about men.”

  Mary nodded and poked her lower lip out, considering. “Well, that’s true, but I’ve had him, and he’s not a big fan of the domination thing.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep.” She sipped her water, cool as a cucumber.

  Lille leaned back against the counter behind her and folded her arms, still holding the glass in front of her. “How was he?”

  Lashes fluttering coyly, Mary continued to sip her water. “He was . . . very good.”

  “But John is better,” Lille said.

  Mary sat straighter, her face suddenly serious. “No. John is John. There is no comparison.”

  Lille wasn’t sure she understood exactly. A man was a man, in her experience; some could fuck and some couldn’t. But Mary wasn’t like her.

  “Well, if he’s not willing to play with me, I’ll find someone else. I always do.”

  Mary nodded, her face carefully expressionless. “Yeah, you two are alike that way.”

  “See,” Lille said, aware that Mary didn’t approve, “it’ll all work out just fine. Now, grab my iPad, I want to show you some ideas I have for the website, and something else.”

  Mary set her water on the counter and hopped off her stool to get the iPad out of Lille’s beach bag when a phone rang.

  “Max?” Lille heard Mary ask. She came back into the kitchen holding the iPad in one hand and her phone to her ear with the other.

  She handed Lille the iPad and perched on the stool again.

  “Sure, I could do that. I’ll call John and let him know. I think Jordan and the new kid are scheduled to work at the Box tonight, so it should be okay.”

  Lille frowned at Mary, who held up a finger. “Yeah, we’ll be there at five. . . . I don’t know, let me ask.” She looked up at Lille. “Max wants to know if you’re any good at bartending.”

  Lille knew her friend pretty well. “That’s not what he asked.”

  “It’s close.” Mary shook her long brown hair impatiently. “Do you?”

  “Yes,” Lille answered, short and clipped, “but he’ll owe me one.”

  “You’ll owe her one,” Mary told him, and blushed bright red a few seconds later. “I’m not telling her that,” she said, and hung up with a smile.

  “What did he say?” Lille tried to sound bland, but curiosity had her standing a little straighter.

  Mary was still blushing, but she was grinning, too. “He said you can have all eight, meaning inches, and that I should back him up on the measurement.”

  Lille felt her own lips twitch and chastised herself silently for being susceptible to rascally charm. “Do you?”

  “Do I what?”

  “Back him up?”

  “Oh, no,” Mary scoffed, and Lille nodded, disappointed, although length wasn’t everything.

  “He’s bigger than that,” Mary finished after a beat, and let out a peal of laughter at Lille’s expression.

  CHAPTER Four

  From the street, the storefront of the Fetish Box looked like a charming white gingerbread house, complete with a front porch and a picture window. The pink neon lights and the half-naked mannequin in the window told a different story. Lille knew the front window had recently been replaced and could see where the white paint around the trim looked brighter and newer.

  Inside, it mostly resembled an overturned jewelry box. There were empty shelves where stock had yet to be replaced, but fantastic statues and objects of fetish art covered every available flat surface, glittering with delicious promise. Mary had asked the employees to get the new stock opened so Lille could start thinking of how she wanted everything displayed.

  The room, once lit with sparkling chandeliers and colored Tiffany lamps, now seemed a bit bright. John had brought in a couple of old lamps from his apartment upstairs, but he looked forward to seeing what Lille planned to do with the place. Before the break-in, there’d been heavy curtains, statues, and plush chairs with cushions to give the entire room the ambiance of a sheik’s harem. The floors were a honey-colored wood and the walls were painted deep purple.

  John was unpacking some of their more expensive vibrators when he heard the bell ring above the door.

  “Whose idea was that?” Lille asked, her lips curved, amused, as she pointed to the sign on the door. It read: “Open. Cum In.”

  “Jordan’s. Jordan Ancelet. One of the employees. He should be here before we leave for the pub. Hey, baby.”

  John smiled at Mary, whose pale skin was glowing and a little pink from her visit to the beach. She was carrying Atticus in one arm; he was squirm
ing eagerly to be put down.

  Just behind her, Lille was scanning the room, taking it all in while simultaneously identifying the exits, the obstacles, and the security cameras mounted on the walls. John noted her behavior, wondering what caused such hypervigilance in a woman like Lille.

  Mary set Atticus down, sliding her sunglasses up into her hair and bending to set him down on the shiny hardwood floor. He scrambled quickly to John, who bent down and caught him, letting the crazy little guy lick him eagerly before he set him down with a quick fluff of his champagne-colored ears.

  “Second place to a dog,” Mary teased as she hugged John.

  John stroked her hair, which was slightly tangled from the wind. “He was here first, and he’ll pee on my laundry pile if I piss him off.”

  Mary pulled away and smiled widely. “How do you know I won’t?”

  “Hmmm, I guess I don’t.” He smiled affectionately, looking over her shoulder at Lille, who was wandering among the racks of clothes.

  “Some of this is great stuff.” She fingered a silk kimono with an art deco pattern of turquoise blue, yellow, and black.

  Mary twisted in his arms to look at her friend.

  “You should see the costumes. Some of them are great.”

  “Where are they?”

  Mary pointed to their right, where there was a raised section of the store that had once been separated by thick curtains pulled back with gold tassels. Only one curtain remained. Some classic burlesque costumes had survived the break-in and hung in their enormous shadow boxes on the far walls, along with what looked like costumes from several movies. On shelves nearby, shoes and boots with sparkles, straps, and buckles ruled the scene.

  Lille glanced back once to see John grip Mary’s hair and kiss her hungrily.

  Lille browsed through the costumes, impressed by the selection and the quantity, though she thought that it was probably wasted on the majority of the customers who came into the store.

  While her friend kissed her man, Lille made a lap around the room, taking in shelves with various toys, books, magazines, and a huge statue of a mermaid riding a winged horse, which was certainly different and lent some panache to the place, setting it apart from most cheap porn stores. She picked up a set of handcuffs—she had her own, but they were still packed, and she thought she might have use for them tonight. She also saw a cock ring that caught her eye. I wonder if Max has ever worn one? She stuck them both in her bag; she’d pay for them before she left.

  All in all, she thought the place was perfect for a place like downtown Miami, LA, New York, or San Francisco. Way too classy for this dumpy little town, she thought shrewdly, but she didn’t really see why it should matter. It was likely there was a steady customer base. It could be that some clients came from Ft. Lauderdale or Miami to maintain their supply, but many customers probably went online. Amazon ruled the world—to stand apart, they needed to be unique, interesting, and as present online as in this store. I wonder if anyone here has computer skills, she thought as she studied John and Mary, who were holding hands and talking quietly about something.

  The scarred ex-soldier was stroking his thumb over Mary’s wrist. Behind them, hanging on the wall between one shelf and another, was a painting that was clearly Mary’s work. It was impressionistic, two people so entwined that it was impossible to tell where one left off and the other began.

  She was staring at it intently when the bell over the door behind her jingled. She turned and a gorgeous young man with caramel-colored skin and bright green eyes strolled inside. He was dressed in a tight white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, skinny jeans, and expensive loafers. Five-hundred-dollar Gucci sunglasses were pushed up on his head.

  He paused as his eyes adjusted to the light, the gold Rolex on his wrist sparkling in the light coming from the big picture windows in the front. It was obvious to Lille exactly when he saw her clearly, because his body straightened and his eyes lit up. A reaction she was used to, but one that never failed to secretly delight her.

  “He-llo, goddess. What brings you here to this fine establishment?”

  Lille raised an eyebrow and gave him a sultry half smile. “Just slumming.”

  He laughed. “You must be Mary’s friend, Lille. I’m Carl, Max’s stepbrother.” He leaned in and embraced her in a quick hug and an air kiss on each side of her cheeks, which she responded to automatically—she’d lived in San Fran way too long to miss the signal for an air kiss from a gay man.

  He pulled back quickly. “You smell like suntan lotion and Chanel. Fabulous. But why are you wearing a T-shirt from the pub?”

  He stepped farther back to take a better look at her outfit. She was wearing a long black T-shirt with a Jobman’s Pub logo embroidered just above her right breast, Wolford black leggings, and black combat boots. Once she’d agreed to tend bar at Jobman’s, she’d asked Mary what she should wear and Mary had found a couple of the pub shirts—the rest of the outfit she considered both comfortable and flattering, though Mary had laughed her ass off when she saw it.

  “Not that you look bad,” he continued. “In fact, I think you should recommend it to Max as the new uniform.”

  Lille smiled a little evilly. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

  Carl rubbed his hands together. “Oooooh, this is going to be fun. I’m so coming to the pub tonight.”

  Mary separated herself from John’s arms and wandered over to where Carl and Lille were chatting. Unlike Lille, she’d gone with “entirely comfortable” for her pub attire. She was wearing black yoga pants, black Toms with splatters of paint, and another one of the pub T-shirts. Lille had tried to convince her to wear a pair of Hudson skinny jeans and Hugo Boss boots, but Mary was stubborn as always.

  Carl hugged her, squeezing her tight and giving her actual kisses on the cheek.

  “Hey, sweetie, I sold two more of your pieces.”

  “Which ones?” Mary looked both pleased and anxious, as if the pieces were her children.

  “Beneath the Naked Gods and Entwined.”

  “Oh,” she said, and bit her lower lip.

  “I know.” Carl reached over and rubbed her shoulder. “Artists hate it when you sell something,” he said in an aside to Lille.

  Lille nodded. Mary had never liked selling her things. Even on the day they’d met at the craft fair on their college campus, Mary had seemed reluctant to sell the scarves and hats that she’d knitted for extra money. Lille understood. Mary’s scarves were amazing, cool, complicated knits with beautiful blends of color. Some had been dreamy greens and blues, others reds. They seemed almost saturated with color, as if they glowed. Lille just had to have them for the boutique she managed. They’d worked out an agreement, and every month Mary delivered a gorgeous selection of scarves, hats, and eventually purses and jewelry. They’d become friends. She’d tried to look out for Mary, knowing that the younger woman was almost as alone in the world as Lille was.

  But now Mary had someone else looking out for her. Lille watched as Mary turned to meet John’s eyes; he didn’t smile, just held out his arms. She ran and jumped into them, raining kisses on his face, including his scarred cheek.

  Carl and Lille looked on indulgently, as if they were grandparents studying a pair of young lovers.

  “I suppose you’ll be taking over the running of the Box,” he ventured, continuing to watch John and Mary.

  Lille eyed him for signs of discontent, but she couldn’t quite get a read on him. “Perhaps not in charge”—she edged around the truth—“but with Mary busy painting, it seems like a logical choice.”

  Carl nodded. “I have some ideas I’d like to share with you, if you’re interested . . .”

  Lille eyed him; he seemed perfectly sincere. “You’re aware that Max disapproves of my being here?”

  “Please”—he waved a languid hand—“Max is not a big fan of change in ge
neral. He’s just like our uncle.”

  “How did that work exactly?” She indicated his obviously dark skin color and lack of accent with a nod.

  “Well”—he pursed his lips—“it’s kind of a long story, but the short version is that his father married my mother and they both disappeared. Max and I lived with his uncle together since we were around ten or so.”

  “What happened to Max’s mother?”

  Carl’s lips flattened. “Whatever you do, don’t ask him about that.”

  “I wasn’t going to.” Lille pouted. “It’s not like we’re close.”

  “Uh-huh.” Carl eyed her. “She killed herself. Took a bottle of sleeping pills and walked into the sea.”

  Lille felt her fingers tingle in shock. “Dramatic,” she remarked finally, trying not to pity the man for the boy’s sake.

  “Yes,” Carl agreed, “but that’s why he doesn’t find women all that trustworthy. They’re always letting him down in one way or another.”

  Lille shrugged. She didn’t find people all that trustworthy, so she wasn’t about to judge Max for his prejudices.

  The bell over the door jingled again and Atticus barked happily, dashing past Lille and Carl to greet the visitor, jumping up on a young man wearing mustard-yellow skinny jeans, a black shirt that read “Keep Calm and Carry Lube,” and red wing tips. Gauges hung from both ears and a bar pierced one eyebrow.

  “I’m here,” he announced, pushing his Brad-Pitt-in-Fight-Club sunglasses onto his head with one hand and bending down to lift Atticus with the other.

  “You’re early,” John called, but he didn’t sound surprised.

  “I’m a man who loves my work,” Jordan told Atticus, leaning down for a kiss from the white dog.

  Carl snorted. “Not to mention reading porn between customers.”