Amanda's Young Men

by Madeline Moore

  ‘A lot of women like it that you’re small, too,’ Amanda added, ‘for the same reason.’

  ‘Thank you, Ms Amanda.’

  They exchanged grins.

  Sophie shrieked, ‘Perverts!’ then Trevor’s hand was over her mouth again.

  Amanda levelled a calm look at Sophie. ‘You’re the pervert,’ she hissed.

  Not one pair of shocked eyes widened at her statement, but five. Sophie Sharpe stopped struggling.

  ‘Look, Sophie, I have evidence that you have been engaged in unlawful activities while under the employment of Forsythe Footwear. Evidence that will put you in jail,’ said Amanda.

  Sophie shook her head furiously.

  ‘I have evidence,’ repeated Amanda, ‘and lots of it. Now, I’m going to ask the rest of you to leave us alone.’

  ‘You must be kidding,’ said Trevor.

  Paul and Rupert chimed in with similar exclamations.

  Amanda waved her hand to Trevor, indicating that he should remove his hand from Sophie’s mouth. ‘I believe that some of the things that need to be discussed here today are between Sophie and me. Private matters. I’ll give you one chance to agree, Ms Sharpe.’

  Sophie shrugged. ‘I’m not going to attack you or anything,’ she muttered. She shoved Trevor’s hand away and adjusted her suit jacket.

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ said Amanda. ‘Wait for us in the outer room, Trevor. Paul, Nola, Rupert – your work is done. Thank you. I’ll see you at the office tomorrow.

  ‘If I hear any trouble …’ Trevor grumbled as he followed Nola out.

  When they were alone, Amanda opened her case. ‘I’ve got some things I’d like you to take a look at, Sophie, if you don’t mind.’ Amanda pushed a photocopy across the desk. ‘Look at this.’

  ‘What the fuck is it?’

  ‘A copy of your last bank statement.’

  ‘How the fuck did you get hold of that?’

  ‘How I got it doesn’t matter.’ In fact, it was one of the few photos she’d managed to take the day she’d popped Tom Sharpe’s cherry. The others were just as confidential, and as damning. ‘Look at the items I’ve highlighted in yellow.’

  Despite herself, Sophie looked. Her face drained of colour, except for two spots of blush that now looked clownish. ‘What about them?’ she bluffed.

  ‘They’re deposits,’ Amanda explained. ‘Large cheques from Ogilvy & Fitch, and from two other companies that just happen to be subsidiaries of Ogilvy and Fitch’s, that also just happen to be major suppliers to Forsythe Footwear.’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘Kickbacks are illegal, Sophie.’ Amanda spoke patiently, as if she was talking to a child, which was what Sophie deserved for her bluster. ‘They constitute fraud. As several people had to be involved, it’s also “conspiracy”. We’re talking about major jail time, here.’

  ‘You can’t …’

  ‘Yes, we can. Now take a look at these photos, please. I found them in my late husband’s cell phone. Tsk tsk.’ Amanda wagged a finger. ‘Uncharacteristically sloppy of you, Ms Sharpe.’ She pushed several eight-by-ten glossies across the table. ‘Recognise my husband? The way he’s dressed – or not dressed – just a dog collar and a leash?’

  ‘So what?’ The woman’s face was white but her back remained ramrod straight.

  ‘And this one, clearly you, in nothing but boots, carrying a riding crop?’

  ‘That doesn’t mean a fucking thing. What are you implying?

  ‘Implying? My God, woman, you’ve got balls. I suppose that’s what attracted him to you in the first place.’

  ‘It’s not like Roger and I are in the same picture.’

  ‘You don’t have to be. Look at the backgrounds. See that tacky picture on the wall, in both photographs? That locates them. That picture is on the wall of the motel room that Roger was found dead in. Roger’s cell phone dates and times the pictures it takes. That proves that you were there with him the day he died. That’s evidence, legal evidence.’

  Sophie blinked. ‘I never liked the idea of taking pictures.’ She put her face in her hands. ‘I didn’t kill him. He had a heart attack.’

  ‘That will be for a jury to decide.’

  ‘Please. I can’t stand trial. There’s only me and my young son left of the family. He needs me. If I go to jail, what will become of him?’

  Amanda shrugged. Sophie was obviously trying to portray Tom as younger than he really was. Perhaps it was a family trait? She suppressed a wry laugh. Still, Amanda had looked closely into the Sharpes’ situation and it was quite true, there were only the two of them left.

  ‘And the shame!’ Sophie’s voice broke. ‘I couldn’t bear it.’

  ‘Oh, I know all about shame. Remember his funeral? Everyone knew just how he died, and where. I should have been the grieving widow. I should have been given solace, not pity.’

  ‘That was never supposed to happen. No one was ever supposed to know. And anyway they didn’t know just how he died. I – I took the collar off his body to preserve at least some of his dignity.’ Sophie shuddered in spite of herself.

  ‘How good of you to show such concern for his dignity. What about mine?’ Amanda’s voice broke. Her eyes met Sophie’s and to her shock she felt them prickle as if they might tear up.

  ‘Amanda,’ Sophie began. ‘We didn’t mean – all I can say is that, once my dominant nature spoke to his submissive side, it was beyond our control to stop it. We tried, but we couldn’t. However, we both worked very hard to keep it a secret.’

  ‘Maybe if it was such a big secret you should’ve disposed of the body after you murdered him.’

  ‘It’s not so!’ Sophie shrank into her chair. ‘I didn’t kill him!’

  ‘Well, it’ll all come out at the trial. Soon everyone is going to know everything.’ Amanda gave Sophie a grim smile. Her blue eyes were once more bone dry.

  ‘I swear to God in Heaven that Roger had a heart attack. You have to believe me.’ Sophie’s voice broke, to Amanda’s immense satisfaction. Now they were even.

  ‘Tell me exactly what happened,’ demanded Amanda.

  ‘I didn’t even know he was gone! I was giving him a good whipping and he was thanking me for it. That’s how it’s done. In the BDSM world, the submissive thanks the domme for –’

  ‘I get it,’ interrupted Amanda. ‘Go on.’

  ‘He stopped thanking me, which I took as him pretending to misbehave in order to be punished more severely so I – oh, God, I admit I – I laid on a few more lashes, extra hard, but when he still failed to beg for mercy I – I stopped.’

  ‘Any last words?’

  Sophie shrugged. ‘Um, “Thank you, mistress.” I guess.’

  Amanda frowned. ‘Did he suffer?’

  ‘I truly believe it was a massive heart attack. He was gone in an instant.’

  Amanda sat back. That was the last information she needed about Roger’s death. She had no more questions.

  ‘I didn’t fucking kill him. You have to believe me.’ Sophie’s desperation might have roused pity in Amanda had the future of Forsythe Footwear not been at stake.

  ‘Even if you didn’t kill him, even if it was his lifestyle that killed him –’ Amanda allowed a bitter laugh ‘– you still left him there. You didn’t call for help. That might be construed as manslaughter, or at least “criminal negligence contributing to death”. I’ve asked around. It’s true that you and Roger did an admirable job of hiding your S/M relationship. Right now, nobody knows.’ She paused for effect. ‘And nobody ever needs to know.’

  Hope glimmered in Sophie Sharpe’s eyes. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘You have the certificates to the shares Roger sold you, with you, ready for the shareholders’ meeting.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Simple. I want to buy them.’

  Sophie brightened. ‘Oh?’

  ‘They amount to ten per cent of the company, correct?’

  Sophie nodded.

  ‘I’ll give you a tho
usand dollars for them.’

  Sophie sat back in her chair. ‘That’s ridiculous! I paid Roger a hundred times that.’

  Amanda nodded. ‘Is that all? You got them dirt cheap, but then you were his dominatrix, so he wouldn’t have been hard to talk down.’

  ‘You can’t expect …’

  Amanda shrugged. ‘You used your power over him to influence his business decisions in a way that drastically affected me. I don’t like that.’

  Sophie frowned. ‘There must be another way …’

  ‘I could likely prove coercion, and that you paid Roger with funds you’d obtained either by fraud or by embezzlement, but all that would take time and be so boring and just add a few years to your jail sentence. Look at me, Sophie. I. Mean. Business.’

  Sophie looked into Amanda’s steely blue eyes for a second or two before she wilted. ‘OK. I’ll take the thousand, provided you don’t press charges or ever make any of this public. And I get the hard copy.’ Sophie picked up her briefcase and flipped it open. She reached for the pile of bank statements and X-rated glossies.

  ‘Agreed.’ Amanda let Sophie take the copies. They both knew Amanda could make more whenever she wanted. ‘Don’t think Ogilvy & Fitch are going to give you a job. I’ve already spoken to them. They’ve agreed to pay Forsythe Footwear considerable compensation in return for us not pressing charges against them. If it got out that they’d been bribing buyers, it’d finish them. You aren’t very popular with that company any more.’

  ‘Don’t count me out,’ Sophie said. Still, she was grim as she produced and signed over the stock certificates. Gleefully, Amanda passed the woman a cheque for a thousand dollars. Done. And Sophie’s reputation remained as pristine as her son Tom’s. The Sharpe family was scandal-free.

  The two women barely had time to freshen their faces before it was time to go down to the shareholders’ meeting. It lasted a little more than twenty minutes.

  Even with the proxies Sophie had gathered, without the ten per cent she’d coerced from Roger, Amanda retained control of the company. It was gratifying to Amanda to see how many investors had shown up in person, willing to give the widow Garland a chance to helm Forsythe Footwear rather than let it be scooped out from under her before she’d had a chance to show them what she could do. If there was any pity in the room, it was directed at Sophie, as Amanda accepted her resignation.

  The meeting ended on a happy note. Amanda promised the shareholders that dividends would be paid at the end of the current financial year, for the first time in half a decade. They filed out rather jovially, each shaking her hand and wishing her the best of luck.

  When the last one was gone, she sank back into her chair, grateful for support. It was over. She’d done it. She smiled. The future of her life as a businesswoman was downright rosy. Amanda’s smile included the entire table, and then faded as she regarded the many empty chairs that surrounded it. She’d done it, all right.

  26

  MEG AND TREVOR were waiting for Amanda when she left the elevator in the lobby of the hotel. They were surrounded by luggage and Meg was wearing a straw hat, which suited her Tom Sawyer-like appeal tremendously, not that her appeal needed any help.

  ‘What happened? I saw Sophie Sharpe leave a while back and she didn’t look very happy,’ said Trevor.

  ‘The shareholders looked very happy, though,’ said Meg. Her grey eyes were soft with concern.

  Amanda didn’t linger on Meg; she kept her eyes on Trevor as she delivered the good news.

  He scooped her up in a big hug. ‘Boss Lady!’ Trevor spun round until Amanda was dizzy and pounding his shoulders to make him stop.

  She refused to laugh. His new name for her hardly made up for not being his ‘bendy doll’ any more. Trevor put her down but kept his hand on her elbow until she was steady on her feet.

  Meg stuck out her hand. ‘Congratulations,’ she said. ‘Trevor tells me he already told you about us. I’d hoped to do it in person. But I’d like to thank you, too.’

  Amanda focused her bright-blue eyes on Meg. If the younger woman saw some of the pain she felt at her loss, so be it. They’d been honest, the one night they’d had together, and she wasn’t going to change that, too, now that everything else was changing. ‘You’re welcome, Meg,’ she said. ‘I’m happy for the two of you.’

  Trevor caught her tone. He frowned, puzzled. ‘You did set this up, right? Me and Meg? Or were you thinking me and Meg and …’

  ‘And me? Truthfully, I just wanted you to make sure nothing bad happened to Meg. But I’m glad you’ve found something in each other that, apparently …’ Amanda let the rest of the sentence hang, swallowing the urge to finish with ‘… neither of you saw in me’.

  Trevor laughed. ‘Silly!’

  It was the last thing Amanda expected from him.

  ‘You’re just beginning to play!’

  His infectious grin really made her want to smile. He always had a way of making her feel as flustered and giggly as a girl.

  ‘True,’ she conceded.

  ‘I’ve been a player for a long time. And it was great, Amanda, especially with you. But I was at the end. I hadn’t even kissed anyone for years until the night I kissed you. I was in danger of actually turning into a soulless sex machine.’

  ‘I liked you as a sex machine,’ grumbled Amanda.

  Meg hugged her. ‘That’s why I wanted Trevor to wait until today. Just in case it wasn’t the happy surprise he was sure it is. But Trevor’s right, Amanda. We’re looking for different things. I’m really lonely. I want to be with someone every night, not every so often. I want to be with Trevor.’

  Amanda acquiesced. ‘It’s all good. Really. I’m fine.’

  ‘We have a plane to catch,’ said Trevor. ‘And it’s time for you to start celebrating your success.’

  ‘I’m going home,’ said Amanda.

  ‘Home?’

  Trevor and Meg exchanged worried looks.

  Trevor said, ‘What about your hat?’

  ‘My hat?’ Amanda gave him a blank look.

  ‘That blue floppy thing you were wearing this morning. You left it in the room we used for the shakedown of Sophie Sharpe.’

  ‘I don’t really care about my hat. To tell the truth I’m exhausted.’

  Meg piped up. ‘What about Paul and Rupert? They’re a couple of handsome young stallions, hmm?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘That Nola’s a bit of all right, too,’ chimed in Trevor. ‘Completely committed to Ms Garland’s happiness.’

  Amanda nodded.

  ‘Go get your hat,’ urged Trevor. ‘You’ll be glad you did.’

  Again, she acquiesced. ‘Fine, I’ll go right now.’

  ‘Great!’ Trevor hoisted the luggage on to his back. ‘When we return from our romp in the land of rum and reggae, we’ll both report for work at Forsythe Footwear, Madam President.’ He tried his best to give her his old two-fingered mock salute and only half-succeeded, laden down by luggage as he was. He leant in to kiss Amanda on the cheek.

  ‘Enjoy monogamy,’ whispered Amanda.

  ‘I will,’ he promised. ‘I’ll get us a cab,’ he said to Meg, and was gone.

  Meg and Amanda exchanged chaste kisses on the cheek.

  ‘Enjoy monogamy,’ Amanda whispered again.

  ‘Manogama-huh? Whaddya mean?’ Meg struck a ‘Little Tramp’ pose, her face a caricature of confusion. Then her guffaw resounded, which made Amanda laugh and caused most in the lobby to turn to look at its source and, when spotting Meg, to smile. ‘We’ll see about that, we will,’ she said. Meg walked backwards, blowing kisses until she was out of sight.

  27

  THE MEETING ROOM in 1012 was empty, suspiciously so. The suddenly important blue hat lay in the corner where it had landed when Amanda had sent it sailing across the room.

  ‘Oh there’s my hat!’ She didn’t bother actually picking it up.

  A chorus of muffled giggles greeted her extra-loud exclamation.

&nb
sp; ‘Hello?’ she called out in her best ‘I’m ready to be surprised’ voice. ‘Is that you, Nola?’

  ‘In here,’ Nola’s voice sang out.

  Amanda followed the sound through the slightly ajar glass doors into the main bedroom. It had been transformed into a scene out of Arabian Nights. Nola, resplendent in the garb of a belly dancer, gyrated in time with the exotic afar music that suddenly filled the air. She held a garish crown aloft.

  Paul, draped only in a white sheet, lay on one of the double beds. His body gleamed as if it had been recently oiled. Rupert, also wrapped in a white sheet, duplicated Paul’s pose.

  All three called out together, ‘Surprise!’

  A big spangled sign was posted on the wall between the two beds. It read ‘Congratulations, Ms Amanda, President of Forsythe Footwear and Our Sultana Forever!’

  The coffee table was dominated by a big cake, as gaudy as the crown, which was surrounded by platters of food and a basket of fruit. Bottles of Dom Perignon ’82, her favourite champagne in her favourite year, were crowded into ice buckets. There were four champagne flutes waiting. Four. A nice number.

  ‘Were you surprised?’ Nola set the crown on Amanda’s head.

  ‘Oh yes!’ Amanda clapped her hands. ‘Completely! It’s wonderful! I love it! Now let me see, Nola is my belly-dancing harem girl, but you two fine fellows, who are you?’

  ‘Why, we are your sex slaves, Madam Ms President Amanda, Sultana forever,’ said Paul, though the last word was a little strangled as he tried not to laugh.

  ‘And we two slaves have a surprise for you,’ said Rupert.

  The young men stood facing each other. Their sheets dropped and Amanda saw that they were already both half-erect. Legs planted slightly apart, without moving their arms from their sides, Rupert and Paul leant forwards and kissed. It was a stunning tableau, made more so by the fact that, as the kiss lingered, both men’s erections grew until their tips touched in the space between them.

  ‘My beautiful boys.’ Amanda’s voice was husky.