Kelsey put his smokes back in his pocket. Tara ripped the signed check out of her checkbook and handed it to him.
“Thanks.”
Tara stood in the parking lot of the strip mall as the green Malibu drove away. Kelsey had given her a mini DV videotape which Tara didn’t really know what to do with but as she’d paid for it she might as well keep it. It wasn’t exactly incriminating. Video of Clem getting out of his car and entering a building was not something any divorce attorney would call a smoking gun. But it could be used against him to help build her case.
Evidence in hand, Tara walked over to Mrs. Cho’s laundry. Tara slipped the tape in her bag and entered to the aroma of freshly steamed clothing: a significant improvement over stale Marlboros.
Mrs. Cho was busying herself arranging the plastic wrapped garments on the electric rails that seemed to run in every direction.
“I’ve come to pick up. Drew. Blue suit,” Tara announced, still pissed from her meeting with the dour Kelsey.
“You got ticket?” Mrs. Cho barked back, sounding more like a drill Sergeant than someone in a customer service business. Tara was in no mood for any attitude from anyone this morning.
“One ticket! One blue suit!” Tara barked, slamming the ticket down in front of Mrs. Cho. The two women locked eyes like two stray cats in a stare down.
“Twelve dollar,” Mrs. Cho said flatly, looking at the ticket and ringing it up on the cash register. Tara opened her purse and counted out twelve single bills. She slammed each one down in front of po-faced Cho. “One! Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten! Eleven! Twelve dollars!”
Mrs. Cho pressed a button and the electrical rail behind her started moving the vast array of freshly steamed clothing. Clem’s dry-cleaned dark blue suit arrived like a train pulling into a station. Mrs. Cho yanked it off the rail and handed it over. Tara grabbed it and headed for the door as Mrs. Cho muttered under her breath.
“Have a nice day.”
Across town, up on the forty-third floor at Bergenson & Adler, Clem quickly scanned through the pages of Advertising Age and Adweek to see if there was any mention of the agency, Rebakor or himself.
“Here ya go, boss,” smiled Justine, handing Clem his morning cappuccino and his second caffeine fix of the morning.
“Thanks, Justine.”
In her tight white cotton shirt and gray mini-skirt, Justine was looking like a naughty Catholic schoolgirl and Clem couldn’t help but notice there was an added sexiness to her.
“What’s going on upstairs?” Justine asked, as she hitched up her skirt and sat herself down on the edge of Clem’s desk, exposing more of her bare thigh. As Clem rocked back in his chair, her tight, pale skin was directly in his eye line but he tried to avert his gaze.
“Upstairs? Is there something I need to know about?”
“Fitz and Frank seem awfully buddy-buddy these days.” Justine raised an eyebrow. “I just don’t trust Fitz. He’s such a slime ball.”
“What’s new? We all know that,” Clem replied as he tried to focus on work and not Justine’s thighs.
“I went up to see Rose about something and he was coming out of Mr. Bergenson’s office with that big sleazy grin on his face like he’d just won the lottery or something.”
This was not what Clem needed to hear but he didn’t want to let down his guard in front of his loyal assistant.
“I can’t worry about it, Justine. What’s my schedule looking like today?” Justine slid of the desk and her skirt rode up revealing a hint of her white thong. Clem couldn’t help but notice this time.
“Oops, that wasn’t meant to happen,” Justine apologized, slightly embarrassed. Clem smirked but said nothing as Justine pulled down her skirt.
“Okay…Jerry, Chuck and Suzie want to show you some campaign ideas for Rebakor and they want Fitz to be in the meeting too so everyone’s on the same page and they don’t have to have a separate meeting with him. Is that cool?” she asked.
“Is what cool? The meeting? Or Fitz being in the meeting?” Clem replied.
“Either. Or both, I suppose. What shall I tell them?” Justine stood by the window with the morning sun backlighting her hair and tight white shirt. She was looking like a page out of Playboy but Clem wasn’t about to let that distract him.
“I’m cool with the meeting on creative but I don’t see any damn reason why that prick Fitz needs to be there.”
At that second, Frank Bergenson walked in to Clem’s office.
“Fitz will be in the meeting because I want him in that meeting. I’ll be in the meeting, too. You don’t have a problem with that, do you Clem?”
Frank Bergenson’s abrupt entrance and announcement had sufficient emphasis to suggest that he wasn’t expecting any dissent. Justine took the surprise offensive as her cue to depart very quickly and return to her desk.
“Good morning, Mr. Bergenson,” she smiled as she hurried off. Frank ignored her.
“Actually, Frank, yes I do have a problem with that,” Clem said defiantly.
Frank Bergenson closed the door to Clem’s office and walked past the Le Corbusier ‘art chair’ and sat himself down on the more comfortable sofa. Clem stood up from behind his desk.
“And why is that?”
“That man is so disruptive it’s detrimental to the account. I can’t manage effectively if he’s undermining everything I do!”
“Sit down, Clem. I was hoping we weren’t going to have this conversation.”
“I’m quite capable of having a conversation standing up.”
“Calm down and sit down.”
“What conversation do you want to have that necessitates me sitting down?” Clem’s attention was now very focused on his boss. Frank leaned forward, the lines in his forehead creased deeply.
“Either you work alongside Fitz or I’m taking you off the account altogether.”
“What?” Clem was incredulous. He was being threatened by the same man who only just the other night had told him he was going to become king. Where was this directive coming from all of a sudden?
“You heard me.”
“You’d let that prick run the account on his own? You can’t be serious.”
“I never said that, Clem. No one person can run that piece of business alone. I said I’d take you off the account.”
Clem paced across the room then turned back to face his seated boss. “What’s gotten into you, Frank? One minute I’m the guy taking over the show and now you’re threatening to take me off the account that I won for the agency?”
“It was a team effort, Clem and you know that,” Frank said, maintaining his composure and appearing quite unfazed by Clem’s outburst.
“Sure it was a team effort, Frank. But who put the team together and who led the team? Yours fucking truly and you know that. Fitz wasn’t even a bit player. Gimme a Goddamn break.”
“Clem, shut up and sit down. It’s hurting my neck looking up at you. Stop acting like a junior executive having a hissy fit.”
“No, I’m not going to sit down, Frank. I’m not sitting down until you give me a satisfactory answer.”
Frank Bergenson stood up and rubbed the back of his cricked neck. He sighed wearily.
“Clem, I’ve been thinking long and hard about this and I’m saying this for your own good. No other reason. Listen to yourself. Look at yourself -- You’re pushing too hard. You’re over-doing it. Frankly, I’m concerned you’re gonna burn out.”
“Burn out?”
“Yes. And then what? Huh? -- If that happens, you’re not only no good to this agency, your detrimental to its operations. I can’t let that happen.”
Clem let Frank’s words sink in. Maybe Frank really did have his best interests at heart. And Clem’s outburst had just proved his point. Clem sat down on the sofa and now it was Frank who stood over the young lion.
“Why the heck do you think I dragged you outta here to play golf?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet. I’ll
get back to you on that one.” Clem’s mental chill pill was kicking in but he was still quietly seething inside.
“I want you to slow down and smell the roses. Lighten up. Don’t focus all your energy on work.”
“Frank, I’m fine. I’m at my best under pressure. I revel in this stuff. I’ll take a break when we’ve got Rebakor up and running but this is a crucial time for the agency and I don’t want to fall at the last hurdle.” Clem was still very irritated that even the thought of being taken off the account was on Frank’s mind.
“You know as well as I do that until they start writing those checks for the media buys we won’t be getting agency commission. And they won’t be writing any checks at all until this year’s ad campaign is in the can. Now I don’t care what you say or want or think right now Clem, I want Kurt Fitzgerald and you to work as one cohesive unit because two fucking heads are better than one, excuse my fucking French.”
Frank finished his speech and strolled over to the window to let his words sink in. Clem slumped back in his seat.
“Okay, I get it. Fine. Jesus Christ. Fitz will be in on the meeting if that’s what this is all about.”
Clem conceded to his boss’s wishes rather than rock the boat but Frank was sounding more like an incoming CEO instead of one about to put himself out to pasture.
“All our other clients are cutting back their budgets for the rest of this year heading into Christmas. That’s never happened before. This shitty economy is killing us and yes, I know you need to advertise out of a recession but everyone is running scared.”
Clem heaved a sigh as he listened to Frank’s diatribe. “And…?”
“And when Molinaire signs off on our first campaign and the creative budget is finally approved, you need a vacation and I’m not talking about a long weekend in the Hamptons. You need a good couple of weeks down in Cabo or somewhere so you can unwind and come back refreshed. And spend some time with your wife, dammit.”
Frank had a point but Clem was starting to think that maybe the old man was just getting twitchy about wanting everything hunky dory before he left the building for good. And it certainly would be for good. If Clem wanted to wear the crown he sure better tow the line until Coronation Day.
“Okay, Frank. You’re the boss. I’ll work with Fitz,” Clem said emphatically, finally putting an end to Frank’s tiresome monolog.
“Good. That’s settled then.”
Tara sat in her parked car and dialed Mistress Krystal’s number. Her call went straight to voicemail once again.
Beep!
“Hi, this is Angelina. I called earlier…” she was interrupted by a calm, low-pitched female voice on the other end of the line.
“I don’t do women. Don’t call again.” The line went dead.
“Hello…? Shit!” Tara re-dialed. This time the woman picked up Tara’s call right away.
“I said I don’t…” This time Tara did the interrupting.
“I want you to teach me,” Tara blurted out quickly before the woman could hang up on her again. There was a momentary silence. The female voice spoke again.
“Teach you what?”
“Teach me what you do,” Tara replied, nervously.
Silence.
“And what exactly do I do?”
“You…er….hurt people?”
Silence.
“I please people. And I don’t give lessons.” The line went dead again. Tara dialed back immediately. This time the voice messaging system answered. Tara waited for the beep then left a message.
“I’ll pay your going rate. I want to learn. I want to know how to do what you do. I’m serious,” Tara said, sounding focused and levelheaded. She waited on the line hoping the woman at the other end would pick up. She didn’t. Tara hung up.
She was now feeling really frustrated. Did she honestly think this Mistress Krystal character would teach her how to smack people around? What was she thinking? This woman wasn’t normal: she was a twisted human being. How could anyone who does this kind of thing to make money have any kind of rational thought process, let alone take on a student? She wondered. And what kind of student was she asking to be? To master the art of inflicting pain for pleasure? How fucked up was that? This wasn’t like calling to schedule an art class, this was a whole other world. And a very dark world at that.
Tara started to argue with herself but the cold, hard truth was that this woman was giving her husband sexual pleasure of some sort, which was something Tara certainly hadn’t done in a very long while. What magic spell was this Mistress Krystal casting that Tara couldn’t? Tara sat in her SUV and pondered life for a split second before her cell phone’s ring snapped her out of it. She snatched at her phone.
“Hello?”
“Okay. Three hundred dollars a hour. Meet me at the Starbucks on Grandview and Pine at three o’clock. Wear red shoes.”
Before Tara had a chance to respond the caller hung up. She looked over at the clock on the wall – it was close to one. She knew she was getting in deep but Tara was now on a mission: find a pair of red shoes in the next two hours.
In the executive restroom on the forty-fourth floor of the Kemp Building, Kurt Fitzgerald washed his hands in one of the porcelain sinks then dried them off. He carefully checked his perfect white teeth in the mirror for any remnants of the huge burrito he’d just stuffed down during lunch with Charlie Knutson. Life was good and everything was going swimmingly. He ran a comb through his dark hair, slicking it back behind his ears. He was now looking perfectly coiffed.
“Molinaire is so up his own asshole,” Charlie Knutson chuckled as he zipped up his pants and walked over to the sinks.
“That was great timing, Charlie,” Fitz snickered, while admiring his own reflection. “Molinaire’s expression when you said Clem was playing golf! Just fucking perfect.”
The two men high-fived each other just as the door swung open. Clem walked in and glanced over at them without saying a word. He headed straight over to the urinals. Fitz was ready to leave but turned a faucet back on while Clem unzipped his pants and took a piss. Fitz was the last person Clem wanted to see right now.
“Working the old man pretty well, aren’t you, Fitz?” Clem said, with his back to the two men. Fitz winked at Charlie.
“Now, what exactly does that mean?” Fitz looked at Clem’s peeing reflection in the mirror.
“Like you don’t know.” Clem flushed and zipped up. He walked over to wash his hands.
“Just cleaning up after you, that’s all.” Fitz shot Clem a sarcastic grin as he yanked out a paper towel. Clem fired a look at Charlie Knutson.
“How’s it going, Charlie?”
“I’m good, thanks,” Charlie grinned.
“Are you aware your boss is delusional?”
Charlie Knutson flashed a nervous smile over at Fitz who was not so amused. Knutson knew he was out of his league. He wasn’t going to start verbal sparring with Clem Drew because he couldn’t win that battle. But with these two heavy-hitters calling each other out, he was in no hurry to leave the restroom either, though he made sure he was a safe distance from both of them. This could turn ugly.
Fitz ambled away from the sinks and stood by the door as Clem grabbed a paper towel and dried his hands.
“Ever thought the old man might be working both of us?” said Fitz. Clem wasn’t buying it.
“Y’know, Fitz. You’re standing in the right place right now because you’re so full of shit.”
Charlie Knutson blurted out a snigger that neither Clem nor Fitz appreciated. Charlie got the hint.
“I’d better get going. Catch you later, Fitz.” Charlie made his exit, leaving Fitz and Clem facing off.
“You just don’t get it, do you Clement?’ Fitz smiled. Clem scrunched up the paper towel into a ball.
“What don’t I get, Fitz?”
“You can’t always get what you want.” Fitz sang softly to the Rolling Stone’s tune as he moved slowly towards Clem. Clem threw the screwed up pap
er towel at Fitz’s head, narrowly missing him and bullseyeing the trash can.
“Don’t get cute with me, Golden Balls,” Fitz warned as he got in Clem’s face. Fitz was bigger and stronger than Clem though probably not as fast. The two stared each other down.
“Aren’t you late?” Clem said, goading his visibly irked rival.
“Late for what?”
“For Frank’s two o’clock ass-kissing. You don’t want to let him down.” Fitz curled the fingers of his big right hand into a fist. “Go ahead,” Clem goaded. “Take your best shot. Of course, it’ll mean instant dismissal but it’ll probably be worth it, don’t’cha think?”
There was a momentary silence that lasted a few seconds but it seemed a helluva lot longer to both men as they got their emotions in check. They both knew the repercussions of anything resembling fisticuffs.
“Whatever it takes to get the job done,” grimaced Fitz. He tuned towards the door and swaggered out of the restroom down along the hallway. Clem followed right behind him and headed in the opposite direction. He was fuming. The only thing he knew for sure right now was that he was being out-maneuvered and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit.
CHAPTER 9
Tara entered the Starbucks on Grandview wearing a pair of red Converse sneakers. She looked inconspicuous enough in her tight blue jeans and gray hoody but felt the whole world was staring at her as she arrived for her clandestine rendezvous. Tara stood in line to place an order though she was already jittery and any caffeine coursing through her veins might cause her to hyperventilate. Her eyes darted around the café at the seated customers. She wasn’t sure how she was going to react to seeing the woman who had been beating up her husband for his sexual gratification – not that she had any idea what this person looked like.
Just how sexually intimate this Mistress Krystal had been with Clem, Tara wanted to find out. This was the only way to learn the truth. Her plan, if she could pull it off, was masterful. If carried out to the letter, she would come face to face with Clem at the scene of the crime. But what then? Tara couldn’t think that far ahead just yet.
“Can I help you?” a voice behind the counter asked Tara.
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