Slave to Love

by Julie A. Richman

  “I didn’t know what you put on it, so there’s ketchup, mustard and mayo in the bag.”

  My hand is already covered in grease as I begin to dig into the sack, “Ketchup and pickles,” I mutter and then look up at him, “Would you like to come in?” I’ve got the burger in my hand now and I’m poised to go all cavewoman on it.

  Laughing, “Thanks, but I think I’ll let you enjoy your meat in peace. Night.” He smiles and with a wave he is off down the hall.

  Scarfing the burger down as the door closes behind me, I’m wondering if my ravenous attack on the greasy meal has grossed him out, causing his hasty departure or if my slutty little nipples did the trick with their aggressive behavior. Either way, I never said thank you or good night to him.

  With hands cleaned and teeth rebrushed, I crawl back into bed and grab my phone to text him. So, was he checking on me, too? I wonder. A burger at this hour? Is he just taking care of me? Or was he concerned he wouldn’t find me?

  I didn’t thank you for the burger or say goodnight.

  Did you enjoy it? You gave me meat. Of course I enjoyed it.

  Understatement! I didn’t realize how hungry I was.

  If I’d known we weren’t eating dinner tonight, I would have taken you out for a proper meal. Hmm, sounds like a slam against Bob.

  LOL. If I’d known we weren’t eating tonight, I’d have been ditching out with you a lot earlier for a delicious burger.

  Well, big day tomorrow, so get some sleep.

  You, too. And thanks, Hale.

  My pleasure. Good night, Sierra.

  The sound of my cell phone ringing hurts my eyelids. And maybe my hair follicles, too. Everything hurts. Fumbling on the night stand, I grab the shrill devil and see it’s Monica calling. But it’s only 6:15 A. M. What the heck?

  “Hello.” Ugh, I sound so rough.

  “We’re here. What room are you in? We’re coming up.”

  Swinging my door open a few minutes later, the harsh hallway light is too much to bear and I hide back under the covers the minute they are in the room.

  “Rough night, Princess? You smell like a distillery.” Monica is very amused by my appearance.

  “Very nice,” is Beverly’s assessment as she stalks the room. “You management types get treated very nicely while us peons get to come for breakfast and aren’t even invited to the main event.” She references the fact that only Kemp, Bob and I will be representing the company at Universal Studios today.

  “Give Bob shit about it when you see him later.” I then proceed to tell them the story about the night before.

  Jumping off the bed, Monica grabs the garbage pail. Pushing the Tommy Burger bag aside, she finds the key and screeches, “Noooooo.”

  Holding the sides of my pounding head. “He’s gross.”

  “And Robyn fucks him.” Beverly is shaking her head and then goes into her spot-on Robyn imitation. “He’s my,” pausing and in a breathy voice, “MEN-tor.”

  Even laughing hurts, but when the three of us are together I’m usually crying I’m laughing so hard, and this morning is no exception.

  “When did you get the Tommy Burger?” Monica tosses Bob’s key back into the garbage, its rightful place.

  “Hale brought it to me last night.”

  “When?” Beverly needs facts.

  “I don’t know. It was late. I was already in bed.”

  “Oh my God, he was checking on you to see if you were with Bob.” Monica gives Beverly a look.

  “You think? I was wondering that last night. Do you think that’s what he was doing?”

  “Absolutely,” Beverly concurs with Monica. “After you told him you don’t shit where you eat, he had to make sure you didn’t take off with the president when you wouldn’t go with him. Male egos are so fragile.”

  “I can’t wait to meet him. Go dry your hair and get dressed so we can get down to Bungalow 4, the Sex Palace.” Monica shimmies.

  Emerging from the bathroom, I’m dressed and ready to start this day that’s been in the planning for months now. Dressed in a white silk tank, turquoise pencil skirt, Louboutins and for the first time in months, my mermaid necklace, with its new chain that drops the mermaid to the top of my cleavage. I know a certain someone will enjoy this outfit. Déjà vu.

  “You look gorgeous,” Monica gives me the once over.

  “I can’t wait to meet this Hale.” Beverly is already at the door.

  Grabbing my turquoise suit jacket, I sling it over my arm as we head out of the main building and down the path toward the now infamous Bungalow 4.

  Entering the bungalow, which is smaller than mine, I immediately search for Kemp and Sierra. Laid out on the dining room table is a breakfast spread of croissants and pastries, fresh fruit and two warming trays containing Eggs Benedict and breakfast potatoes. A sidebar holds coffee, tea and juices.

  Heading straight toward the woman serving coffee, I grab a cup and make my way to the patio where Kemp is talking with an attractive short-haired woman.

  He extends his hand and we shake. “I’m feeling last night,” he admits.

  Laughing, “I’m right there with you, bro.”

  “Catherine Wilpont, Hale Lundström.” Kemp takes care of the introductions. “Catherine is VP of Marketing for Barrington Pharmaceuticals and Hale is…”

  She cuts him off, smiling at me, “Yes, I know who Hale is. I’ve been following your company for quite a while now. I like to keep track of New England natives.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “I grew up in Connecticut, but went to school in Boston. You’re an MIT guy, right?”

  Clearly she’s read up on me. “For a short while, and then I joined the armed services.”

  “What an interesting path. I was boring. Four straight years at Harvard and then on to Penn for my MBA.”

  She just had to namedrop the schools as if I’m going to be impressed or find her more attractive.

  Hearing a ruckus, I turn around and there is Sierra with two women, two very loud women. I recognize them from the picture in Sierra’s house. These are the two she is laughing with in the photo.

  Kemp lets out a chuckle, “Two of the quieter members of my staff have arrived. Excuse me.”

  Left with Catherine on the patio is not where I want to be. She’s a space invader, standing closer to me than I’d like.

  “I think I need a refill,” I gesture with my coffee cup.

  Sierra’s back is to me as I walk through the French doors. The turquoise skirt and the Louboutins. She is killing me and it’s not even 8 A.M. yet. Coming up close behind her, I lean down and whisper, “Sleep well?”

  Turning, she smiles up at me, “Yes, my bed was very comfortable.” She emphasizes the words, my bed, and I wonder if she’s giving me a message about checking up on her. “I could, however, use about another six hours sleep.”

  She’s wearing the necklace, and without thinking, I reach down and let the chain slip through my fingers. “I love the outfit,” I say, loud enough for only her to hear.

  “Me too,” she smiles.

  “Catherine,” Sierra’s friend calls out to the pharmaceutical lady and I’m brought back to Bungalow 4 from wherever I momentarily just went with Sierra. “Catherine, let me introduce you to my boss, Sierra Stone,” the beautiful mocha-skinned woman announces.

  “So nice to meet you. Beverly has told me so much about you and the innovative programs you’ve been running.” Sierra touches my arm, “Have you met Hale Lundström yet?”

  “Yes, we met a few minutes ago out on the patio.” Catherine starts to move close to me again, but Beverly seems to have her own agenda.

  “How come you are not my client? Don’t you have a Los Angeles office? Everyone has a Los Angeles office.” Taking my arm, she steers me away from Catherine to an auburn-haired cutie who is holding court. I recognize this woman as the third person in the photo in Sierra’s house.

  “Monica, look who I found,” Beverly announces to the othe
r woman.

  Gasping, “You really are gorgeous.” And she latches onto my other arm. “You know, you really should not be with that New York team. We are so much more qualified and creative. You should be working with us. And wouldn’t you rather be working with Sierra than Susan? She dresses like a man.” Monica finally takes a breath. “Let’s get Kemp over here and do the deal. Kemp, why isn’t he our client? Who do you even have him stuck with, that Robyn girl?”

  And out of the blue, Bob Mannon appears, “Who mentioned Robyn? Now, she’s a favorite of mine. So talented.”

  “He’s her mentor,” Monica whispers to me, choking.

  “Talented at what?” Beverly has the skills of a ventriloquist. I swear her mouth didn’t move.

  Choking on a sip of coffee, the two of them look at me like we’re sharing a secret. “So, aren’t you enjoying working with Sierra?” Monica asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer. “She’s so brilliant. You’re really lucky to have her.”

  “Yes, I am lucky,” I concur and the look on Monica’s face is saying, “Don’t fuck with her, buddy.”

  By 8:30 A.M. the bungalow is filled with clients and staff as we finish off our breakfast and they break us up into groups of five and usher us off into two limousines.

  Catherine has successfully taken on the role of my shadow and settles into the seat next to me in the back of the limo. Kemp is with us, but Bob and Sierra are in the other car and the thought of him anywhere near that turquoise skirt has my blood boiling. The only saving grace is that there is another female client in there with them and I’m sure he is turning on the charm for her.

  Upon our arrival at Universal, Sierra immediately begins working with the event staff to get us credentials, check clearance and procure our itineraries for photos with the Presidents. Bob is signed up with Bush 1, Kemp with Bush 2, and Catherine with Clinton. I chose to forego the photo op.

  “You’re not going to have your picture taken with one of the Presidents?” Catherine is surprised.

  I shake my head and grab a glass of champagne off a passing tray. “Would you like one?” I’m being polite, but I really need to ditch the shadow. Handing Catherine my champagne glass, “Let me go flag a waiter down for another.” And I make my escape.

  Wandering toward the secure area, I’m not surprised to see how tight security is with three former Presidents and the current seated President in attendance. In the secured area, I see the Joint Chief of Staff as well as the Secretary of Defense. They’ve really gone all out for this event. Even members of Hollywood’s “A” list are in queue for a photo op.

  “Lundström,” a voice bellows from my left.

  As I make my way over, that feeling of love and brotherhood floods through me.

  “Dawg, look at you in your suit.” A bear hug follows.

  “I’m a guest today,” I laugh.

  “I’m just a working stiff. POTUS is mine today.” Jeff Garber will always be a brother no matter how many miles or years separate us. Two missions together, one to Afghanistan, the other to Syria and there was never a better wingman. “Smitty’s here too. He’s got Clinton. We’ll get you back there to say hello. Damn, it’s good to see you, bro.”

  Jeff’s focus shifts to my left, “Well hello, Ariel.” Garber is a big, good looking guy and when he sets his sights on a pretty lady, he’s known to close the deal.

  “Ariel?” she laughs.

  I look down and he’s talking to Sierra.

  “Yeah, the Little Mermaid.” He points to Sierra’s necklace.

  Laughing, “Ah okay.” She finally gets it.

  “Sierra, this big lug here is Jeff Garber.” He needs to know she’s with me and I softly touch her shoulder.

  “Okay, I see you’ve already got a bodyguard, so I can’t offer my services.”

  Sierra looks from Jeff to me, clearly confused by the conversation.

  “Jeff and I did two tours overseas together,” I explain.

  “You’ve got the best guy here in the world to protect you,” he informs her.

  “Oh really.” Sierra looks surprised.

  “He’ll keep you safe,” he reassures her.

  Sierra looks at me questioningly. I just smile and shrug my shoulders. I know she hasn’t always felt very safe around me, so this really is ironic. With what I’ve been feeling for her being so far out of the safety zone, she probably does need a bodyguard to protect her from what I’d like to do to her.

  Looking down at the thin white silk tank, I can’t get the image out of my mind from just a few hours ago of what she looked like in that white ribbed tank and sweats. I wanted to pick her up and walk her back into that room, throw her onto her back on the bed and start sucking and biting those gorgeous nipples right through her tank top before lifting the wet shirt and feasting on them.

  I am obsessed with her nipples. I’m an ass man. But I am totally obsessed with Sierra Stones’ nipples and the need to suck them and hear her moan underneath me and to find out how wet that makes her.

  “Hey, let’s get you back there to say hello to Smitty.” Garber pulls me from the abyss, which is good, because I’ve already got a semi from that little interlude.

  “I haven’t seen him in at least three years,” I comment, trying hard to bring myself fully back from that visual.

  Speaking into his right cuff, “Need coverage at four.” A moment later a non-descript man in a dark suit falls in next to Jeff and we’re on the move. Putting a hand lightly on Sierra’s shoulder, I guide her to walk with us. Her look is silently asking me what is going on and I just smile and raise my brows.

  “I can’t wait to see the look on his face.” Jeff claps me on the back. We’re approaching the section cordoned off for President Clinton.

  As we walk past the line toward the front, the woman behind the table begins to protest, her voice alerting the closest Secret Service agent, who takes one look at us and breaks into a huge smile, “No way.” The shock on his face is priceless. “They’ll let anyone into these things and I thought it was a classy event.”

  Smitty and I hug with an affection rarely seen among men. “Dude, what are you doing here?”

  “I’m a guest,” I explain.

  Smitty nods at Sierra, “Ma’am.”

  “Ma’am? Now I feel old. I’m Sierra.” She extends her hand.

  “So you’re with this guy?” he inquires, shaking her hand.

  “Well, I don’t know that I’m with…” she begins.

  Smitty turns to me, “I’m glad. You deserve to be happy.”

  A raspy voice interrupts, “You weren’t going to come say hello?”

  I catch Sierra’s face and her wide-eyed surprise as President Clinton approaches and I’m enveloped in yet another bear hug.

  “Boys, you didn’t tell me we’d be seeing Lundström today.”

  “We didn’t know.”

  “Mr. President, this is Sierra Stone.” It’s a rush to be able to introduce her to a two-term President who knows me personally.

  “Pleasure meeting you, Sierra.” He shakes her hand. “I love that mermaid.”

  “Sir, we’re falling behind schedule,” the woman from behind the desk apprises President Clinton.

  He actually looks afraid of this woman, “I need to get back to work here. Great to see you again, Hale. I’ve been following that company of yours.” He claps me on the back. “Sierra, nice meeting you.” He’s giving her the full Bill Clinton charm and then looks back at me, “Take good care of her,” he commands.

  As we walk out, they make an announcement that the program will soon be starting and to please find our tables. Sierra is quiet as we walk back to the pavilion. Finally, as we’re about to enter, she stops and puts a hand on my arm. “Hale, who are you?”

  Shrugging my shoulders, I just smile. I would love to tell her who I am and everything about me. I’d love to confide what’s shaped me, what drives me, what’s happened in my life. I want her to know. And I’ve never wanted anyone to know.

>   “Seriously, Hale. What was that?”

  “You know I’m former military.”

  “I know. But what did you do? Most former military do not get that kind of greeting from the Secret Service and former Presidents.”

  “I defended this country, Sierra.”

  She doesn’t slip her hand in mine, just entwines our pinkie fingers. Smiling at the surprise move, I tighten my pinkie, giving hers a hug.

  Leaning down, I whisper in her ear, “Now can I grab your ass?”

  She elbows me laughing as we walk through the pavilion toward our table. I know I look like a loon with a huge smile on my face. So far this has been a good day. But all good things must come to an end. As we approach our table, I note there are only two seats left and they are on either side of Catherine.

  I give Sierra’s pinkie a final squeeze before disengaging and taking my seat on the other side of Catherine for the remainder of the afternoon and a very fitting and heartfelt salute to the men and women of our armed forces.

  Arriving back at the Beverly Hills Hotel, everyone is milling about in the lobby, still charged from the high of today’s event. A new set of limos are waiting to take each of our clients back home, with the exception of Hale, who is staying at the hotel. I take the opportunity to speak one last time with each of them and thank them for being our guest.

  Monica and Beverly have come back to the hotel to see their clients off and I’m still riding on an adrenaline high from the day. The entertainment portion of the program was beyond expectation; the perfect blend of comedians, politicians, singers and actors, but more than anything, being able to participate in giving thanks to our troops has elevated my spirits beyond belief.

  After the last guest has left, we retire back into the Polo Lounge, where I vow tonight I will eat.

  “Oh my God, I need to talk to you two,” I tell the girls. “I have so much to tell you when we get to my room later.” I can’t wait to tell them all about Hale and the Secret Service and President Clinton. What the heck did Hale do when he was in the armed services, I wonder. The greetings he received were mind blowing, like he was some mega-hero.