by ANDREA SMITH
I was up the following morning to the sound of Jack banging around in the kitchen. I heard him mumbling something which clued me in that he was not a happy camper at the moment.
I went up to the kitchen from the family room where I had slept. There was a guest suite right next to it; I had been tempted to start sleeping in there just to see if Jack noticed.
“Well,” he said with a hint of irritation in his voice, “It appears that my wife did in fact make it home last night. I was beginning to think I would have to file a ‘missing persons’ report with the local authorities.”
“Were you worried, Jack?” His head snapped up quickly to look at me. He had not expected that I would get flippant. I actually had not intended for it to come out so sarcastically.
“Actually, no,” he said, his tone every bit as sarcastic as mine had been. “I couldn’t imagine what kind of trouble you could have possibly gotten into with Brenda or Annie.”
He gave a slight smirk and continued filling the coffee maker with water. “What’s for breakfast?”
I walked over to the fridge and opened the door. Thank God we had some eggs; I hadn’t done much grocery shopping over the past couple of weeks.
“Scrambled eggs and toast sound okay?”
“I suppose it will have to be seeing that it looks as if you haven’t been shopping in a while. What are you doing with your time these days, Sammie, besides working out and going to the tanning salon by the looks of it?”
“I’m not tanning. It’s a spray tan that eventually wears off.”
“Then what’s the point?”
“I guess there isn’t one, Jack. I just thought it kind of looked nice. It’s just a healthy bit of color; I don’t think the technician overdid it.”
“Let me make my point, Sammie, since you have failed to make yours. I’m busting my ass working for your father’s company to provide you with this home and a lot of extras. I don’t think it’s too much to expect that when I’m home the laundry is caught up; and there is food in the house. I had to run a load of towels through the wash again because you failed to put them in the dryer in a timely fashion. There was a mildew odor to them when I went to use one after my shower last night. I have four shirts that need ironing, and right now I would appreciate some breakfast. Those are your responsibilities, got it?”
“Yes, Jack,” I grumbled turning away from him. He hauled me back to face him. My eyes widened and I swallowed nervously. This was new territory for me. I couldn’t remember the last time I had made Jack angry; I had simply never given him reason before since my activities had always been oriented to seeing to his and Lindsey’s needs without delay or error.
“I’m not finished yet; I will be traveling extensively the next four to five weeks. I’ll be home by Christmas but I have to do training presentations to the marketing groups at four of our sales facilities in order to compete for R & D money; you’ll need to start handling the bill paying activities. I’ve just got too many other things on my mind.”
(I’ll bet.)
“Sure Jack,” I replied, “We can go over them before you leave again so that I can take over. Not a problem.”
“Okay then,” he said, releasing my arm. “I’ll have my breakfast upstairs in the study when it’s ready.”
I mentally flipped him off as he turned and went towards the stair case. I immediately felt bad about it. Jack was right; I hadn’t been fulfilling my domestic obligations to him since Lindsey had left for college. I made a mental note to try harder on that front as I started preparing his breakfast.
By the end of the day on Saturday, I had all of the laundry caught up; Jack’s shirts ironed and hung up; the fridge and cupboards well stocked and a beautiful roast in the oven for dinner. I was going to please Jack come hell or high water. I had set the dining room table with good china and linens; lit candles and poured each of us a glass of fine merlot wine.
We ate dinner mostly in silence; Jack was still a bit perturbed with me. I asked questions about how the distribution center groundbreaking had gone; shared with him my most recent conversations with Lindsey, and told him that I had been working out a lot at the gym - which in essence, was sort of true. I wasn’t ready to tell him about my job. I was starting to think I might never be ready. Finally, towards the end of the meal and three glasses of wine later, Jack seemed to ease up and become more cordial.
I cleared and loaded the dishwasher while he got comfortable in the family room with another glass of wine. Perhaps he would get relaxed enough for some lovemaking, I thought as I went upstairs to shower.
I had enjoyed a couple of glasses of wine at dinner as well. It was enough to make me just slightly giddy and bold. I decided that I was going to do exactly what Vonda had suggested. I was going to blow dry my hair, put some make-up and sexy lingerie on and dance provocatively for my husband. Granted, we didn’t have a pole from floor to ceiling in our family room, but I would make do with some props of my own.
After I was showered and had dried my hair, I found a black lacy bustier with red trim and a pair of black lacy bikini panties; I put a black garter belt on with it and black fishnet hose. I had purchased these items specifically for the bedroom hoping one day I would have need of them. That day had come.
I carefully made my face up, not nearly as drastically as Margo did, but it still took away that innocent, housewife look. I piled my hair up into a ponytail; slipped my feet into some 4” spiked heels. I was ready.
I saw right away that Jack had switched to bourbon when I descended the staircase to the family room. He had his sleeves rolled up, taking a sip from a glass with bourbon and ice in it. He liked his bourbon straight. He did a double take when he saw me. I took the remote and found a music channel that I used during the week when I practiced. The tunes were just right for erotic dancing. I watched as Jack studied me moving with the music; I danced over to him provocatively, allowing him ample view of my breasts that were bulging over the tight bustier.
I hovered over him, taking my knee and expertly spreading his legs; I then lowered myself in front of him and allowed my fingers to play against his chest and groin area to the music. I saw his face darken; the rage was unmistakable. I froze in confusion. I thought my moves had been pretty damn good; seductive yet tasteful. That was what I was going for with my husband. It had been months.
“What in the hell are you doing, Samantha?”
“I uh, I just--”
“You just what; wanted to come down here made up like a whore and strip for me?”
“I wasn’t going to strip, I uh, thought--”
“Thought what? You thought this would get me in the mood, is that it?”
“Jack, come on; it’s been months for us. I thought--”
“The hell with what you thought, Samantha. I’m fucking sick and tired of you whining about not getting enough cock!”
(I hadn’t said a thing to him about it in weeks; why was he so pissed?)
“You want to act like a whore; by God I will treat you like one then!”
Before I knew what was happening Jack threw his drink down and grabbed me, wrenching me to the floor. I was afraid of him. For the first time ever, I was afraid for my wellbeing. Something was wrong; something was very wrong.
I tried to twist away from his grasp once he had me pinned on the floor; but his strength far exceeded mine. He landed a hand firmly across my cheek by my right eye. I saw stars for a moment and then I simply relaxed. I realized that the more I fought him, the more determined and rough he became.
He had my arms pinned down at my side as he roughly ripped my lacy undergarments off of me. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly; this was something I could not fathom. Jack had never been a tender lover; but he had never been a violent lover up to this point.
“There whore; you’re naked now! I know what you want, whore. I’m here to give it to you.”
He spread my legs open with his hands and raised himself up over me. His now erect penis plunged into me w
ith a vengeance. I shrieked in pain.
“Oh, but this is what you wanted, isn’t it Samantha? The whore in you wanted this and you shall have it!”
He continued to plunge in and out of me unmercifully over and over again. I felt like I was going to split in half.
My mind was reeling; this had never happened with us. He was not a soft and tender person; I knew that, but this was violent. This was not about sex even; this was pure and simple control. What had I done to make him feel as if he had lost control?
I didn’t have long to ponder as I finally felt Jack come. He moaned in pleasure as he emptied himself into me. He then quickly pulled himself out and off of me. He didn’t look me in the eye as I lay there in shock; the pain was gone, the numbness had taken over. He zipped his fly up and sat back down on the sofa. He picked the remote up and changed to a different channel.
“You probably need to get some sleep, Sammie. Go on to bed. I’ll be up a little later.”
I picked myself up off of the floor totally naked; totally exposed. It wasn’t as if I had to hide my nakedness from him; his attention had been diverted to the television. He had dismissed me. I had seen it before though never after such an act of violence against me. I hurried out of the room, seeking refuge once again in our suite. I got into the shower and scrubbed myself clean of his anger; his abuse. My skin was flushed pink by the time I got out.
I quickly dressed in my conservative underwear and pajamas and crept underneath the sheets of our bed. I curled up into a ball and eventually fell asleep. I felt like a total piece of shit.
CHAPTER 8
I spent Sunday trying to avoid Jack. I spent an inordinate amount of time in the bathroom trying to cover up the shiner I had around my left eye. It was bruised and tender, turning dark shades of purple and black by the hour. I hoped like hell that it disappeared before I worked again on Tuesday.
Jack never mentioned once what had transpired the night before. He acted no differently than usual. He sat me down in the afternoon to show me how he handled the bill payment on line. Jack was very organized with his file folders, Excel files logging payments in with confirmation numbers provided by the bank once remittance was scheduled. He was meticulous and expected no less out of me now that this household task had been relinquished to me.
He packed his suitcase and his garment bag late in the afternoon. Giving me a peck on the cheek, he was off to the airport; he told me he would be calling to check in. He was out the door before I had a chance to ask him about the photo of ‘Sadie’ I had found. Truthfully I was apprehensive now about bringing the subject up to him at all. I wanted to avoid rousing that violent temper at all costs.
I phoned Brenda and chatted for a while; I didn’t mention what had transpired between Jack and me. She would have gone off about it and pressed me to take some action. I needed to think this through on my own; handle it in whatever way was best for me.
Tuesday finally came and I was in the chair while Margo was doing her best with applying a heavy concealer around my left eye. She was being gentle which told me this was not the first shiner she had needed to conceal for one of the girls.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked cautiously, as she gently dabbed make-up over the concealer.
“Not really,” I replied with a shrug. “It’s no big deal.”
“It’s always a big deal, sweetie, but I respect your right to privacy so I won’t push. Hopefully, your perspiration won’t wash it off.”
I got through my first couple of dance routines without a hitch. Tuesday was generally a less crowded evening; mostly regulars were in during weeknights. I had just changed into another costume; it was shiny gold boy shorts, with a matching sleeveless gold vest; I accented it with 4” black leather boots, and a glittery, sequenced cowboy hat.
Kevin poked his head around the corner of the dressing room, “Front and center, Diamond, there is a dance request specifically for you, followed by a customer purchased drink.”
(Oh hell - I hope Harry wasn’t back . . .)
I knew immediately when the first chords of the tune blared out from the speakers that this request had not come from Harry. It was Steppenwolf’s ‘Born to be Wild.’
I took the stage and immediately my eyes met with Slate’s incredibly blue ones. I saw the shadow of a smile cross his sensual lips as I took the pole and twirled to the beat of the song. My heart fluttered as I watched him watching me. None of his biker buddies were around; he must be flying solo tonight.
The song ended; I descended the three steps from the stage to main floor. Slate was on his feet nodding toward a table near the back. I saw Vince nearby; he was making sure Slate didn’t touch me. Vince seemed much more attentive when the ‘gentleman’ was a biker instead of an old geezer, such as Harry.
He held a chair out for me as any perfect gentleman would have done. Renaldo took our drink order; Slate ordered bourbon straight up; I requested my usual club soda. I was nervous, for some reason; his presence unnerved me.
“You have some nice moves, Diamond; did the song justice out there. I like that.”
“Glad you got your money’s worth, Slate,” I said in my husky club voice.
I watched as he cocked an eyebrow, a slight smile gracing his sensual lips. “I’m not sure about that, Diamond Girl. That remains to be seen.”
I gaped at him feeling myself flush. He didn’t talk like any biker that I had seen around the place. There was a quality to his voice; his choice of words hinted at something more than biker lingo. I was certainly no expert on bikers; perhaps I was basing my opinion stereotypical impressions.
The several moments of silence between us was making me more self-conscious.
“So, Slate - tell me about yourself? Where are your biker buddies tonight?”
“I really don’t give a shit where they are; we have separate lives, you know.”
“I’m sorry - I didn’t mean to . . .”
“Insult me? You didn’t. I’m used to the stereotypical comments. I’m sure you’re used to them in your line of work, right?”
(Oh - he really thinks I’m like the rest of the girls . . . I like that!)
“Yeah, you got that right,” I said with a throaty laugh.
“How long have you been dancing in clubs like this, Diamond Girl?”
“Not long,” I said with a sigh, “Kind of new to this circuit.”
“You’re not from Indy?”
“No, Kansas,” I replied, “Then Chicago; now here. How about you, Slate?”
He took a sip of his drink that had just arrived and shrugged.
“I’m from all over; really don’t call anywhere home for long.”
It almost seemed as if Slate had a script.
(Like me!)
Perhaps it was a ‘biker’ thing; being macho.
“So are you a member of the Outlaws?”
“Do you see an ‘OMC’ patch on this jacket?”
“No - but then, I’m no expert on biker gangs, either.”
“They’re called ‘clubs’ - not gangs, Diamond Girl.”
(Whatever - they were mostly criminals, from what I had observed.)
“So what do you do outside of ‘the club’?”
“I manage,” he replied with a shrug.
“Well you must work; how else can you afford to make special requests and buy a dancer a drink at these prices?”
He laughed, shaking his head. “You aren’t going to get rich off of me, baby. Maybe that old geezer can hook you up; he didn’t seem to lack for money, as I recall.”
(Where in the hell is he coming from with this shit? I didn’t ask him to buy me a drink!)
“Fuck off, Slate.”
(Where in the hell had that come from? I never used the “F” word!!)
His blue eyes were locked on my green ones. All humor had left his face; his eyes were as cold as ice instantly. He perused me up and down; I saw his jaw twitch as his gaze came to rest on my left cheek bone; his eyes darkened.
He lifted his hand to my face; his thumb lightly caressed my outer cheekbone underneath my eye. Vince was immediately in the vicinity.
“It’s okay, Vince,” I called over my shoulder. Slate removed his thumb from my cheek.
“Who fucked you up?”
His gaze was now burning into me waiting for an answer. I didn’t owe him a response let alone an explanation. I finished my club soda, turning my face away from him.
“I asked you a question, Diamond. Who the hell left that mark on you? I want to know who I need to fuck up.”
“My husband,” I replied, returning my gaze to his, “It was my husband, okay?”
I saw a quick look of disbelief cross over his face. He turned his head, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm.
“Christ,” he muttered, “What the hell is wrong with you, Diamond? You put up with shit like that from your old man?”
“It’s none of your concern, Slate. Is our time up yet? I need to have my make-up touched up before the next set.”
“Yeah, babe; we’re done here.”
I scooted my chair back and hurried away from him; he made me feel like trash. How in the hell could some biker dude make me feel like trash? But he had; I was certain he hadn’t meant to but at the moment it was how I felt. I also felt out of sorts with my departure. I realized it was when he said we were ‘done here.’ What had that meant?
I quickly banished those thoughts from my mind. What the hell did it matter? I was certainly not going to get involved with some young biker. I headed into the dressing room as Margo was finishing up with Jade.
“Need a touch up, hon?”
I nodded, too frazzled by the brief time I had spent one-on-one with Slate to try and make small talk with Margo.
“I saw you out there with the hottie biker,” she said as I took the chair that Jade had just left. “I poked my head out when I knew your number was up to see who your admirer was just so you know. I can be nosey that way with dancers that I care about.”
I eyed her warily. I couldn’t help but smile when I saw the way she fussed over me like a mother hen. We had to be around the same age.