Just like you, Michelle had told her. You really do have it all within your grasp, Aditi. You could have everything you want if you just get over the fear of marrying your gay best friend, let him support you while you pursue separate sex lives, and dive into your writing.
“That was back when I believed in marriage, though.” Michelle looked across the table at her friend.
“Oh, Miche.”
“It’s true though, isn’t it? I never wanted to think about the compromises I was making. Or I didn’t even realize what I was compromising or giving up until it was too late.” She sighed. “Sex with Ted hadn’t just gotten boring toward the end. It was non-existent.”
She felt Aditi squeeze her fingers.
She swallowed. But admitting this to Aditi was easier than admitting it to herself had been: “You won’t believe how many articles I read trying to convince myself that wasn’t a sign of the relationship’s decline. That we were just ‘maturing’ as a couple. That we had more important depths to our partnership than sex.”
“Wow.”
“I know. So now I feel strangely relieved to have him gone, but part of me doesn’t want to enjoy my sudden freedom too much because it’s like if I do, I’m admitting I was a bad wife.”
“Miche—”
“I know, I know. Part of me wants to make lemonade out of the lemons, and rush out and… experience everything I’ve been missing. But part of me just wants to curl up at home alone with a book and a cup of cocoa and forget men exist entirely.”
“Trust me, I’m the queen of hermiting at home,” Aditi said with a self-deprecating laugh. “But it gets old.”
“I don’t even know where to start with dating, though. I mean, the divorce isn’t final yet so maybe I’m jumping the gun, but you know how long it’s been since I had regular sex?”
“No wonder you’re so high-strung.”
Michelle tried not to let that comment sting, but she knew there was a smack of truth to it. “And if I do jump back into the dating pool, am I just going to end up in the same pickle as I did with Ted in the first place? Attached at the hip to some loser? I think it’s going to be a while before I’m ready for another relationship.”
“So don’t look for a relationship. Hookups are a viable thing, you know, especially in a big city.”
Am I ready for this? No. But there’s no harm in asking… “The apps really work for you?”
“They do. It takes time to pick through what you get on Tinder or Bumble, but sometimes it’s really empowering to get all dressed up and put yourself out there.”
Okay, enough about my woes, time to get back to business. “Like you’re going to do for the diversity panel?”
Aditi chucked her napkin at her. “We were talking about you!”
“And now we’re talking about you again,” Michelle said with a smile. “Just be your usual, bubbly, positive self, Deet, and you’ll be fine, you know?”
Aditi clucked her tongue. “I don’t know what came over me today. I’m not usually like that. It’s not like I’ve never been to a big con before.”
Michelle could feel her friend’s anxiety rising despite what she was saying. “It’s your first time with a major book release on the horizon,” she said, trying to calm her. “It’s going to feel different. And if your confidence is feeling low from your struggles with book two—”
“I never said I was struggling with book two,” Aditi said.
“From your struggles to balance all the publicity demands with your writing time,” Michelle amended, almost challenging her to argue that point. “I’m just trying to help any way I can.”
Aditi sighed. “Who else is on the diversity panel, again?”
Michelle gave a little fist pump in her mind for getting Aditi focused on the panel instead of personal issues. She’d known plenty of writers who only liked the writing part of the job and resented the other things a writer was expected to do, but she hadn’t thought Aditi would be one of them. Sometimes you just couldn’t tell until the actual opportunities came up, though. “Here. I snagged the program book at registration.” Michelle dug it out of her bag.
“I have the program on an app,” Aditi said, tapping her phone. “Oh! Oh good. I just realized I’m Twitter friends with two of the panelists.”
“That’s perfect.” Michelle held back the urge to scold Aditi for not looking at the panel information earlier. I’m her editor, not her mom. And that was the sort of thing Michelle’s mother would have criticized. Try to emphasize the positive. “Let’s see what workshops pertain to you, too. There are some great ones on building your writer platform and social media tips from New York Times bestsellers.” Michelle paged through the book. There was so much going on, everything from a workshop taught by a martial arts master and a cop on how to write realistic fight scenes to a Regency Ball. Something for every genre from steampunk to YA dystopia. She half-expected to see a vampire teaching “practical bloodsucking.”
Then her eyes stopped on a page touting maybe the next best thing: a workshop on “Realistic, Loving BDSM.” A quarter of the page was taken up by a photo of a couple. The woman wore a corset, the stripe of a dark collar crossing her elegant neck. She held her head high, her eyes bright and smiling under short black hair, looking beautiful and happy and fulfilled and not any of the things Michelle would have expected a woman dressed like that to be. Not pouty, not sultry, not slutty, but self-possessed, confident, vibrant. Behind her, with his hands on her bare shoulders, stood a man in a black leather vest, also dark-haired but with a touch of gray at the temples and in his beard. He was not smiling but giving the camera a soulful look, his eyes looking directly into the lens. It felt like that look could peer right into Michelle’s secret thoughts. Under the photo, the workshop description read:
Make the kinky relationship in your book unique and realistic at the same time. The keys to a masterful, believable, deeply loving, passionate pairing in a romance novel are the same as those in a real-life BDSM relationship. Instructors Master Richard Blake and his Slave Felice will introduce you to the tools that push the envelope, dig deep into fantasy, and uncover the true soul underneath your characters—or your real-life love match. Those tools include not just whips, floggers, and rope but trust, respect, and communication.
Aditi’s voice held a note of amusement. “Well, speaking of a chance at some adventure now that you’re Ted-less…”
So much for staying focused. Michelle flipped the page quickly, her cheeks burning, not even sure why. They’d just been talking about sex, like they had a million times before, so why the sudden chagrin?
Michelle flagged down the waiter to refresh her coffee, to give herself a moment to steady her voice. “BDSM? Really? I’m just… struck by the immense variety of the workshop offerings here. Look, there’s even one on whether writers should hire assistants, real life or virtual…”
Aditi brushed aside her attempt to change the subject the same way Michelle had Aditi’s earlier, by doubling down on being supportive. “If you want, I’ll go with you to that BDSM workshop.”
Michelle felt the color rush to her face again. “Oh, that’s all right. I don’t think I’ll be going to many workshops myself. I’m still finishing that emergency edit. I should hole up in my room and order room service.”
“If all you were going to do while here was edit, Faraday didn’t have to pay for a flight and hotel,” Aditi pointed out. “Come on, Miche. This is your chance to give something new a try. You’re single for the first time in forever, and something’s clearly caught your interest.”
“Okay, but seriously? Whips and chains?” Michelle heard her mother’s voice coming out of her mouth and pressed her fingers to her temples. “What makes you think I’d be into that?”
“Besides the way that photo made you gasp?” Aditi took a breath and Michelle held hers. “Did you ever notice there was a pattern in the cosplay you used to do?”
“Pattern? I’m femme. Unlike my sister, I’ve
always been femme.”
Aditi nodded. “But not just femme. Let’s see if I can remember them all: Catwoman. Black Canary. Wonder Woman…”
“I was a DC kid, you know that.”
“I’m not talking about Marvel versus DC.” Aditi leaned forward, her voice pitched low and sultry. “You love the dominatrix look. You love to crack the whip on your writers.”
Trying not to sound defensive only resulted in sounding completely defensive. “I just want the best for you!”
“Caretaking and improving one’s subs is a big part of being a dom, you know. Bet there’s a workshop on that, too.”
Michelle felt the back of her tongue go dry. There was something in there, something in that thought, that grabbed her by the throat and didn’t let go. She tried one last evasion. “Just because I like the look of high boots and corsets doesn’t mean I’m a sexual deviant.”
“Michelle,” Aditi scolded. “Are you calling people into BDSM deviants?”
“I don’t mean it like that, in a negative way, I mean, whatever floats your boat, flips your skirt, I’m not judging it. It’s not like I’m… I’m… repressed or something.” Right? “But don’t you think if I was really going to be super into BDSM I would’ve done it by now?” A nagging little voice in her head added, Well, except for being stuck in Ted-land for the past few years…
“Pardon me.” A deep male voice from behind her sent a shiver down her back. “I couldn’t help but overhear, these tables are so close together.” She looked up and saw a familiar-looking man come to stand tableside. “Plus, when I saw you looking at our photo I was halfway out of my chair to introduce myself already. Richard Blake.” He held out his hand.
Michelle took it, feeling ridiculous, but any embarrassment she might have felt was overwhelmed by the warmth of his hand, his captivating voice, and that penetrating gaze. “Michelle Andrada. And this is Aditi Sodhi. She’s speaking at the conference tomorrow.”
“Charmed.” He clasped Michelle’s hand in both of his. Nothing corny like kissing the back of her hand, but something about the firm grasp, his nod, and even the way he released her seemed to speak of a formality from an earlier era. “May I present my wife, Slave Felice.”
Felice gave a slight dip, a curtsy, and smiled. She was wearing a cute, chic minidress and a silver necklace that merely gave the impression of sleek elegance at first glance. But when Michelle looked again she saw the little loop of metal at the center was evocative of a collar. It was a collar. Goose bumps spread across her shoulders as she realized it.
“Very nice to meet you,” Aditi said. “Apologies for Michelle. She’s usually not so speechless.”
“I’m fine,” Michelle said, waving her hand at Aditi. “Very nice to meet you both. But I don’t think I can make it to your workshop. I have a lot of responsibilities to take care of.”
“No worries,” Richard said. He produced a card from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and Michelle realized his lapels were leather. “If you’d ever care to talk or find out if we’re teaching or speaking in your area, here’s our contact information.”
Michelle took in the information with surprise. “Oh, you’re in New York? This is a Manhattan phone number.”
Slave Felice spoke. “It is, except half the time we’re at places like this!” She gestured as if to indicate the fabulousness of New Orleans all around them. “If you can’t make it to the workshop but you have Saturday evening free, we’re taking a group of writers on a field trip to the local dungeon. You could come along to that. Meet in the lobby, six o’clock, and don’t be late.”
It didn’t feel like a come-on. It didn’t feel like pressure. It felt like the opposite of pressure, like freedom was a vacuum sucking her in. “I suppose I should learn about the… the relationship dynamic… since it’s such a popular topic in fiction now. Understanding it would be helpful for editing and acquisition.”
Richard’s smile was warm and wide. “Exactly. That’s why we’re presenting it at this conference.” His mouth might have played along with Michelle’s excuse, but his eyes seemed to say he knew that was exactly what it was. “We’d love to see you at the workshop if you can make it. Two-thirty tomorrow, East Ballroom, don’t be late.”
And then, with another nod and a curtsy, they said good night and took their leave.
“I feel like I just met… two time travelers,” Michelle said as she watched them disappear out the door.
“What makes you say that?” Aditi asked.
“Their manners. Did you hear how they both said, ‘Don’t be late’? It’s like… a whole world of etiquette and rules and proving one’s self is wrapped up in those words. Am I wrong?” Or am I just hearing what I want to hear?
“Well, protocol is a big part of dominance and submission…” Aditi shrugged, then smiled her impish smile. “Lots of rules and terminology. Now that I think about it, that sounds right up your alley, too, Michelle. Sex you can totally geek out over and argue right and wrong.”
“You’re making fun of me,” Michelle complained, but she was too wrapped up in the sudden impatience to find out more for the comment to sting.
“Oh, Miche, I’m not.” Aditi touched her hand and Michelle looked up. “Look. Before the book deal, before anything, we were friends. You know I never judged your marriage.”
“I know.”
“But I always worried that Ted left you unfulfilled in bed. You didn’t make sex a priority but I figured that was okay. You seemed happy so I didn’t pry. I didn’t push. But now? Now you and I both know you weren’t happy. You weren’t fulfilled. Now’s your chance to try out how the other half lives.”
“Like my sister, you mean?” Michelle tried not to bristle.
“Like a woman who makes her own satisfaction a priority, by whatever means work best for her. You should’ve seen your eyes light up when you saw that photo…” Aditi trailed off, perhaps sensing that she’d pushed far enough. “I just want you to be happy.”
“It’s only a workshop,” Michelle said aloud. “Not a self-help seminar.”
At that, Aditi just smiled.
TANEESHA
The text came from Bobby just as Taneesha was about to leave work. You coming to the Settlers of Catan tourney at Diego’s tonight?
She turned off her monitor and texted back. Sure am.
I didn’t think you were into Settlers.
In fact, Taneesha had declared it the most boring game ever after Bobby had made the whole family play it one Christmas. After how you go on about it I figured I should give it another try.
By text she couldn’t tell if Bobby bought that or if he was laughing his head off. When his reply came she guessed he was at least snickering. Diego convinced you?
You could say that. Diego was why she was going, anyway. A group gaming night was an excuse to hang out with him in a neutral environment. He seemed funny, sweet, and smart, and although he seemed as attracted to her as she was to him, he hadn’t made a move. That was a nice change from the jerks at the opposite end of the spectrum, the ones who looked at her breasts like they were some kind of prize to be won, at her legs like getting between them was the way to level up. She was good at shutting that kind of guy down at places like Comic Con, but it wasn’t so easy when that guy worked in the next cube over. Diego was a very welcome respite and she was looking forward to seeing him even if she wasn’t really looking forward to an entire evening of Settlers of Catan.
Her phone buzzed again. Can you give me a ride? I promised Diego I’d pick up drinks and snacks on the way to help him out.
LOL sure little bro.
An hour later Taneesha stood in the checkout line with Bobby and a cartful of junk food and two-liter bottles. She checked her phone and saw Elli had posted a photo of herself in full Celaena Sardothien cosplay meeting author Sarah J. Maas. Taneesha dropped a note into Slack. Hope you guys are having a great time in New Orleans! Deet, how did the diversity panel go?
Up popped another photo fro
m Elli, this one of Aditi at a table with a microphone, gesturing while talking. Action shot! Panel was great! she wrote.
She was a little surprised to see a reply from Michelle pop up almost immediately. Panel really was great. Aditi was fantastic. So proud. Will upload video later.
“Earth to Neesha, Earth to Neesha, come in, Sister Space Cadet.”
She looked up to see Bobby gesturing at the grocery bags. “I said I’d drive you,” she snapped. “I didn’t say I’d carry groceries.”
For half a second he looked worried he’d pushed too far, and then he saw her smirk. “Come on.” She picked up two bags—the lightest ones—and led the way back to the car.
At the shop, they were the first to arrive. As the bell over the door tinkled, Diego was just emerging from the back room with some folding chairs. “Bobster! My hero!” he called.
“Thank my sister,” Bobby said. “She drove.”
Diego did a double take, as if he hadn’t noticed her at first, and then bowed. “Milady Taneesha, the gratitude of this humble knight knows no bounds.”
“Cornball,” Bobby muttered. “Where do you want this?”
“Here. We’ll use the counter as a buffet table. It’s waterproof,” Diego said.
“I got it,” Taneesha told them.
“Great. Bobby, help me unfold a couple of tables and bring out the last couple chairs.”
Taneesha busied herself with opening the snacks, but her mind was on Diego. If anything, he looked even finer than the previous time, his skin a deeper, darker honey than she remembered and his hair a glossy black.
Some more players spilled in; regulars, from the sound of their greetings with Diego. In short order, one of them was setting up the game with Bobby. Taneesha poured herself something from a two-liter bottle as Diego pulled a plastic cup off the stack. “I’ll have some of that.”
“Diet Mountain Dew? Are you sure?”
He clucked his tongue. “Of course. How else am I supposed to keep this fine-tuned engine revving all night long?” He reddened suddenly. “Wow. That sounded a lot funnier in my head than it did out loud.”
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