Ellen grinned as he described the other things in the assortment. She tried the tandoori and had to agree with Jim, tasty, but very dry. The ground meat was delicious and the vegetable-filled pastry was unusual and wonderful.
When she grinned, Jim said, “I’m glad you’re pleased,” and the friendly atmosphere continued as the main course arrived. He showed her how to use her chapati, an Indian flat bread, to pick up delicately spiced pieces of lamb in a creamy sauce, flavored with crushed almonds.
“I’m amazed,” Ellen said as she licked her fingers. “This is delicious and not spicy at all.”
“Would you like to taste this one?” he asked, indicating a bowl filled with lumps of meat covered with a thick green-brown sauce. “It’s a bit more…interesting.” He spooned a small piece of meat and a bit of sauce onto her bread. “It’s called murgh saag. It’s chicken with a spinach sauce. I’ll warn you, it’s got a small kick so start with a small bite. If you don’t like it, give it to me. It’s one of my favorites.”
Ellen tasted. “It’s great. I’ve never tasted anything like this before, and I’m sorry I haven’t.”
“Not giving it to me?”
“Not a chance.” Later, when she reached for her water glass, he intercepted her hand. “If your mouth’s a little hot, take a bit of the raita. It’s yogurt with cucumber and spices. It will cool your mouth much more quickly than water.” When she smiled at the cooling effect of the raita Jim grinned. “That’s my girl.” Then he blushed. “I didn’t mean that the way it came out. Of course you’re not my girl.”
“I know that, Ellen said, helping herself to some rice sprinkled with carrots and peas, and covering it with a bit of the spinach sauce. Sensing his sudden discomfort, she added, “Now it’s time for you to relax. I hope we’ve passed the really awkward part.” She handed him the lamb plate. “Have some more.”
The rest of the meal passed with comfortable conversation. She learned that he was a computer programmer and worked for a company that made plumbing supplies, maintaining its Web site and order-entry system. He had been born and raised in Texas, and for the past fifteen years had lived in Manhattan several blocks south of her apartment.
After a dessert of something called gulaab jamun, a spherical pastry swimming in a honey sauce, they sipped tea and waited for the check. Jim made no protest when she handed him money to cover her half. Finally, they walked outside. “Can I walk you home?” he asked.
“It’s a little soon for you to know where I live.”
“That’s fine, as long as you don’t disappear. May I have your phone number at least, so maybe we can do this again some time?”
Ellen sensed that he was trying to sound casual but that this was important to him. If she were to admit it, it was important to her as well. “Sure.” She wrote the number on a small piece of paper and handed it to him. “Thanks for a delightful evening. I’m sorry I’m so difficult, but I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“I certainly do. Someone from a small town like you are should be cautious. There are a lot of kooks and weirdos out here.” He pulled a card out of his wallet. “Here’s my name, address, phone number, e-mail address, pager number, and all that. Is it okay if I call you in a week or so?”
“I’ll look forward to that.” As Ellen watched Jim walk to the corner and turn south on Second Avenue, she realized that she was looking forward to seeing him again.
When she arrived in her apartment, she was grinning. She had had a dinner date with a man—and it felt wonderful. She undressed and, as she was about to flip on the TV she spied the CD player on her bedside table. She was in just the right mood for a story, ready to have her horizons widened. She stretched out on the bed, turned down the light, and pressed play.
Chapter
7
The narrator’s voice was sexy, the background music soft and sensual. Ellen found that her body tingled all over. This story began the same way as all the others.
“Is there magic in the world? Skeptics doubt that magic exists, or ever did exist. Are they right? I don’t know, but there are still a few people who are willing to keep an open mind, people who believe in old stories, ancient legends, and possibilities. Like the possibilities inherent in the Ring of Obedience.
“ Would you like your lover to obey your every wish, lady?’ the old man asked.
“ Sure, who wouldn’t,’ MJ said, amused at the off-the-wall question the ancient peddler asked. Disregarding his salesman-like approach, she walked to the other side of his street-corner display of watches and rings and looked down at the usual clutter of knock-off watches.
“ I have just the thing for you,’ the man said.
“ Actually I’m looking for a birthday gift for my husband.’ She shook her head at the knock-off watches—Omaga and Rollflex—then moved around to the group of rings. She picked up a silver wolf’s head, then peered at a skull. No. Not right. He wasn’t the skull type. She realized the old man was watching her so she picked up a large gold-looking signet ring with a gothic S on it. ‘No. I don’t think there’s anything here he’d like.’ She put the signet ring back on the tray and turned to leave, disappointed. Her husband Steve’s birthday dinner was that night and she still hadn’t found anything to give him.
“ But what would you like?’ the vendor asked. MJ glanced back at him, then looked a bit longer. He was much older than the usual run-of-the-mill sidewalk vendor, with piercing deep blue eyes that seemed to see to her soul. He looked both spooky and wise although how those two things could go together she had no idea.
“ What I want isn’t the question. It’s not my birthday, it’s his.’
“ You said you would like your husband to obey your every wish.’ The man picked up a Celtic knot ring of woven strands of gold and silver. ‘This will do that for you.’
“MJ took the ring from the vendor’s hand. As he blathered on about obedience, she tuned him out. The ring really would be perfect for Steve, she thought. He loved unusual things and he was of ancient Irish heritage. It looked like it would be the right size, too. ‘How much?’
“ It’s priceless.’
“Yeah, right, she thought. Here goes the part I hate. Bargaining. ‘I’m sure it is, but how much?’
“ He who wears it must obey she who gave it. You’ll see.’
“Enough. Then, as MJ started to put the ring down the man said, ‘Fifty dollars.’
“ You’ve got to be kidding! Fifty dollars for something from a pushcart? Not a chance.’
“ You have no idea what you’re passing up,’ he said. ‘This could mean everything to you. I can let you have the Ring of Obedience for forty dollars, but that’s my final offer. Pass it up at your own peril.’
MJ was about to replace the ring on the vendor’s tray when she made a rash decision. It would probably turn Steve’s finger green but what the hell. It was really right for him, and the old guy seemed so sincere. ‘Ring of Obedience. Forty dollars. Okay, I’ll take it.’
“ Good. Very good.’ As MJ rummaged through her purse for her wallet, the man continued, ‘Just place it on his finger and from then on he won’t be able to resist any suggestion you give him. And he won’t be able to remove the ring himself. The only way to get it off is for you to take it from his hand. Of course it will only work on the man you love, not anyone else. Do you understand?’
“No reason not to humor the guy. ‘Right. Obedience. Only I can take it off his finger. Got it.’ She handed him two twenties and he gave her a small blue velvet box for the ring.
“ If he puts it on your finger, you’ll be under the same power. You will be unable to resist anything he wants you to do.’
“ Sure. Anything you say.’ She tucked the ring into the box and slipped it into her pocketbook.
“That evening, she and Steve went to a fancy Italian restaurant to celebrate his twenty-eighth birthday. After a glass of wine, she pulled the small velvet box from her purse and placed it on the table between them. ‘Happy birthday, s
weetheart.’
“He picked up the box, opened it, and stared. ‘Wow. This is fantastic.’ He pulled the ring out and gazed at it beneath the light from the small candle on the table. ‘It’s really great. Wherever did you find it?’
“ I hate to admit it, but I got it on a street corner. It will probably turn your finger all kinds of colors but I really liked it and thought it would look fabulous on you.
“When Steve started to put the ring on, MJ took it from him. ‘Let me.’ She slipped it onto his right ring finger, where it fit perfectly.
“ Oh, baby,’ Steve said, leaning forward. ‘It looks just wonderful.’
“MJ leaned toward him and they kissed softly. At that moment the waiter arrived. ‘May I take your order?’
“ MJ?’
“ Why don’t you order for me?’ she said.
“ Certainly.’ Without hesitation, Steve ordered veal with pasta and salads for both of them.
“ Very good, sir,’ the waiter said, striding toward the kitchen.
“During dinner Steve kept admiring the ring. ‘You know, maybe it would look better on my other hand.’ He pulled at the ring, but it wouldn’t come off ‘Hmm. It seems to be stuck. Never mind. It looks great right there.’
“MJ reached for his hand and easily slipped the ring off. ‘That was easy. Are you sure it was stuck?’
“ It was stuck fast.’ Steve slipped the ring onto the index finger of his left hand. ‘I wonder how you got it off so easily.’ He looked at his hand, then shook his head. ‘Nah. It looked better on my right hand.’ Again he struggled and again the ring wouldn’t budge.
“MJ remembered the peddler’s words. ‘He won’t be able to remove the ring himself. The only way to get it off is for you to take it from his hand.’ She reached over and easily slipped the ring from his left hand and replaced it on his right. ‘Hmm.’
“ It’s really funny the way it seems to get stuck when I try to get it off yet you have no trouble.’
“ Yeah. It is curious, isn’t it.’
“Throughout the meal, MJ thought about the ring. A couple of times she asked Steve to do something really simple and each time he did it without question. Just coincidence, she thought. Should I give it a test? A real one? Nah. I can’t really believe what some vendor says. ‘Baby, how about going dancing after dinner.’ Steve hated dancing and always refused.
“ Sure. Sounds like a great idea.’
“MJ’s eyes widened. Could this be? ‘But it’s your birthday. Shouldn’t we do something you want to do?’
“ If you want to go dancing, then dancing it shall be.’
“Did she really want to go dancing if this ring thing truly worked? Not a chance. She wanted to be home, in bed. However, the ring needed a more serious test. ‘Actually, I’d like you to go into the men’s room and take off your jockey shorts, then come back and hand them to me.’
“Shit, here it comes, she thought. He’ll burst out laughing and that will be that. She was grinning, ready to enjoy a shared joke, when Steve stood up and, without a word, headed toward the men’s room. Moments later he returned, handed her his shorts and sat back down as though it was the most normal thing in the world.
“This is too weird, but too funky not to take advantage of. ‘You know how I love your cock,’ MJ said, ‘so I want to know it’s ready for me for later. Are you hot?’
“ You know I am always hot for you.’
“ Is it hard?’
“Steve grinned sheepishly. ‘Yes. Actually the feeling of my dick rubbing against the inside of my zipper is making me really horny.’
“ Then unzip. I want to see.’
“Steve looked puzzled, but reached into his lap and, from what MJ could see from her side of the table, unzipped his pants. ‘This is really kinky,’ Steve said, ‘but I seem to want to do whatever you want. Silly, isn’t it?’
“ Yes,’ MJ said, ‘it really is.’ She slipped off her shoe and placed her stocking-covered foot in Steve’s lap. Sure enough, his cock was naked, poking from the opening in the front of his pants. Naked and hard as a rock. She rubbed her foot up and down the length of him, smiling as she saw how distracted he was. ‘Think about my foot,’ she purred. ‘Think of how good it feels, how hot you’re getting, how difficult it is not to come.’
“ Shit, baby, why are you torturing me?’
“ Is it really such torture?’
“Steve grinned. ‘Yes. Well, no. Your foot feels wonderful.’
“ Good. Then concentrate on it.’ There was utter silence at the table as MJ stroked Steve’s hard cock with her stocking-clad foot. Finally she said, ‘What you really want to do is to rub your cock until you come, isn’t it? Right here in this restaurant.’
“ Yes,’ Steve groaned.
“ I would never embarrass you, of course, so you can cover your hand and cock with your napkin. Then rub yourself until you come. I’ll just keep stroking you with my foot since that feels so sexy.’
“Steve looked at MJ. ‘It feels decadent and kinky, but I really want to do it.’ As she watched, he covered his lap with his napkin and rubbed his cock. The bemused look on his face was quickly replaced with one of rapture. Suddenly MJ could feel the spasms rock his erection and the wet stickiness on her foot. He had really done it. This was truly amazing.
“When he had cleaned himself up and they were having coffee, MJ confessed and told Steve all about the peddler and his story about the ring. ‘I didn’t believe it,’ she said, ‘but it seemed to work. You appeared to be incapable of resisting whatever I said.’
“ Could it be?’
“ I certainly didn’t think so,’ she said, ‘but consider what just happened. You masturbated right here in public. Would you ever have done anything like that before tonight?’
“Steve shook his head. ‘No. I guess not. That’s some kind of power. You could really use it for evil.’
“ The old man swore that it would only work between us and I’d never do anything that I didn’t know you’d like.’ She slowly pulled the ring from his finger. ‘I’ll only use it when we agree that you should put it on. It does have great erotic potential, doesn’t it?’
“ Phew. It certainly does.’ Steve took the ring and gazed at MJ. ‘What happens if I put it on your finger?’
“ I obey you.’
“Steve motioned to the waiter. ‘Check please.’ He turned to MJ. ‘Let’s go home. We’ve got to play with this thing some more.’”
Ellen took a deep breath. Her entire body had reacted to the heat in the story. Could I ever do something like that? she wondered. She thought about the dinner that she had shared with Jim and pictured herself in MJ’s place and Jim in Steve’s. Jim had his hand in his crotch, so hot and under her control that he masturbated in public. As she thought about it, her hand rubbed her mound and slid back to her clit. Her orgasm was almost too quick, crashing over her suddenly and completely.
The following day was warm and sunny so, rising quite late in the morning, she dressed in a new outfit, a vibrant green silk shirt and a pair of tailored beige slacks. She added a long, thin brown belt, slender gold earrings, and her leather vest and headed to the local diner where she often stopped for breakfast. As she walked along Fifty-second Street she saw a small restaurant advertising a champagne brunch. Why not? she thought. Something different.
After a leisurely meal with two glasses of orange juice and champagne, she again wandered around the city. About three, as she walked back uptown she spied a small antique clock in the window of a dusty antique store. Inside she asked the clerk the price and was flabbergasted to find out that it was more than three hundred dollars. “Sorry,” she said. As she headed for the door, the woman called, “Wait. Maybe I could do something for you.” She went into a back room and returned with an index card. With an exaggerated sigh, she said, “I could let it go for two seventy-five.”
“Two and a quarter and not a cent more,” Ellen said, wondering where the words had come from. She thought
the clock was beautiful and would look just perfect in her living room but to spend that much money frivolously was silly. She hated bargaining, but still…
“I’m so sorry. I couldn’t let it go for anything less than two fifty.”
Two hundred and fifty dollars. This was ridiculous. “Okay,” she heard herself say. “I’ll take it.”
“You’ve made a good decision,” the woman said and took the clock and Ellen’s credit card to the rear of the store. Soon Ellen was walking toward her apartment with the clock in a shopping bag. Her apartment. She was beginning to think of it that way. She stopped at the corner and added a large bunch of flowers to her purchase. My apartment.
The next day was Monday, the day of the art class. She considered not going, but no. The butterfly was going to venture out of her cocoon, and without Maggie’s help, even if it killed her. She looked over her new purchases, but finally dressed in an old pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and added her navy windbreaker. Painting clothes, not a stylish outfit. She wasn’t here to impress anyone, just learn to paint and she certainly wasn’t trying to impress Kevin. One man in her life at a time was enough. So, with her art-supply box in hand, she headed for The Templeton Gallery.
She entered the gallery and followed the signs to the second-floor workshop where the classes were held. The room was almost the size of the entire gallery, with windows on two sides and several skylights. The air smelled of art, of oil and turpentine, thinner, and fixative. She saw Kevin standing at the side of the room, looking over the shoulder of a middle-aged man who held a charcoal pencil in his hand. As she looked around, Ellen saw that there were a total of six people, each standing in front of an easel with paper clipped to backing, working silently with charcoal, trying to get the right perspective on a vase of flowers on a pedestal table at the front of the room. Canvases covered with cloths were propped against the walls around the perimeter of the room. Shelves held what Ellen imagined were sculptures, also covered. Several pieces of furniture were scattered around the periphery.
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