Justine felt bad for Clem but hadn’t realized how much it had affected Tara. “He needs this little party to lift his spirits. Thanks for doing this for him, Justine.”
Clem walked into his office to much applause as the room broke into a rendition of Happy Birthday. Timing-wise it couldn’t have been worse but he had to put on a brave face. He took a big breath, huffed it out and managed to force a weak smile as he looked at all the happy faces singing to him. Justine popped a bottle of Moet.
“Speech!” a voice from the back of the room shouted. Everyone applauded. Clem sucked it up and took another breath.
“Hey, guys. Thanks for coming to my 90th birthday.”
“I thought you were only eighty-nine,” someone quipped.
“Very funny. Thanks for coming, guys.”
“Here’s to our next CEO!” a young, un-informed trainee from the media department shouted. He was obviously out of the loop. Everyone clapped their hands supportively though more out of respect to Clem knowing the toast was redundant. Tara walked over and hugged her husband.
“Yes, here’s to our next CEO,” Clem muttered into Tara’s ear as they embraced. “Shame he couldn’t be here,” said Clem sarcastically. “Guess he’s busy upstairs blowing the old man.”
As the gathering broke into smaller groups, Clem wandered over to his desk. Tara approached him with a sympathetic smile.
“So this is where you spend all those long hours,” she said, clinking her Champagne glass with his. He noticed another copy of the same Rebakor PR photograph he’d torn up earlier with Fitz’s dumb grin looking at him alongside Molinaire and Frank Bergenson. Clem was in the shot but way off to the side.
“Jesus,” Clem huffed. “How many times do I have to rip up that damn photo?”
Tara picked up the glossy picture. “Not a great shot of you, honey.” Tara took a closer look. “Holy shit!” she blurted out.
“Come on, it’s not that bad. I just didn’t feel like smiling.” Tara stared intensely, engrossed in the photograph.
“Who’s that?” Tara asked, pointing to the grinning Fitz.
“Who d’you think?” Clem sneered. “That’s the company asshole -- Kurt Fitzgerald.”
“That’s Fitz?”
“Yeah, ugly bastard, isn’t he?” Justine added, looking over Tara’s shoulder at the picture. Tara stared hard again at the photo and put it back down on Clem’s desk.
“More Champagne anyone?” asked Justine, topping up Clem and Tara’s glasses. “So great you could come today, Tara. I know we talk on the phone every now and then but you need to come up here more often!” Justine gushed, though all three knew that the likelihood of that ever happening was now highly unlikely.
As Tara and Clem spent the next hour socializing, Tara had a moment of clarity. The tables had now turned. Clem didn’t have any secrets that he was hiding from her. She was the one with the secret and maybe she should level with him.
That night, Clem and Tara dined downtown at Manny’s Grill just up the street from the Kemp building. It was an old company hang out for Clem as he’d had many a business lunch and dinner there, so they’d snagged a quiet booth away from the throng of noisy diners.
Clem told Tara about the awkwardness of the photo shoot and the flat reception he’d gotten from Molinaire. He also told her about his come-to-Jesus conversation with the old man and that the out-of-the-blue phone call from Daniel Ellerby probably hadn’t been quite so random after all. Clem was reflective and subdued.
“Anyway, Bergenson is going to make the big announcement at his retirement party.”
“Can I go?” Tara asked. Clem was surprised.
“Why would you want to? I don’t want to go myself but I made a promise I would to my team. Don’t know why you’d want to suffer through wearing some stupid costume.”
“Costume?” Tara frowned.
“Well, just to show what a wonderfully, fabulously creative guy he’s been all his professional life, the crazy old bastard wants to make it a costume party. Jesus.”
A wry smile crossed Tara’s face. “How fun! A costume party! Well, that’s perfect.”
Clem shot Tara a look. “No. It’s not fun. It’s not fun at all, Tara. I hate dressing up. Now I’m going to look an even bigger loser when Fitz gets the nod over me in front of everyone and I’m standing there dressed up like some friggin’ pirate or someone equally ridiculous.”
Clem couldn’t understand why Tara seemed so enthused by the thought of wearing fancy dress.
“Clem, it’s perfect. Everyone will be in disguise. No one will know who’s who.”
“Big deal.”
“It’s a license to behave badly. Yes, you can be a pirate and I’ll be….oh, I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”
Next day, after Clem had left for work, Tara had unfinished business with Mistress Krystal. She called her on the phone and got her voicemail. She started to leave a message.
“Hi, it’s Angelina. I want to apologize for running off the other night…” Tara was in mid-sentence when Mistress Krystal picked up the call.
“Apologize for what?”
If Mistress Krystal wasn’t offended there wasn’t much point in apologizing.
“Can I come over? I think I left something at your place,” Tara asked.
Mistress Krystal was cleaning up after a session when Tara arrived at her apartment.
“Mr. Winkle, I presume?” Tara said, knowingly.
“I should charge him extra for all the cleaning costs,” Mistress Krystal complained. “What did you forget?”
“Sissy Boy’s tooth. I decided I want to have it as a memento,” Tara smiled. Mistress Krystal pointed over towards the kitchen.
“Second draw on the right. I always keep any body parts that fall off or fall out just in case the original owners want them back,” Mistress Krystal chuckled. “Sissy Boy has been asking about you. Wants to know when his next session with ‘Mistress Angel’ is going to be.”
Tara found the shiny white molar wrapped in tissue paper. She pulled a face, and then tucked the tooth away in her purse.
“Why? Does he want me to knock out more of his teeth?” Tara snarked. Anyway, thanks.”
“That it? That’s all you came over here for?” Mistress Krystal asked, walking into the kitchen.
“Uh huh,” Tara replied.
“Now, hang on, hun. You kinda stomped off the other night,” Mistress Krystal reminded her. “And you gave me some little speech about being done with class. I don’t know if that was the booze talking or not because, I gotta be honest, I wasn’t really listening.”
“Oh, yeah. I think we’re done. Classes are finished for me. You were a great teacher, so thanks. I learnt what I needed to know.”
Tara knew this would be the last time she’d ever see Mistress Krystal and felt, strangely, a little sad now knowing that she never was the monster her mind had tricked her into believing.
“I’ve been thinking…” Mistress Krystal started. “…about just quitting and moving out west.”
“What about your regulars? They’ll be lost without you.”
“Tea?” Mistress K smiled.
“Oh, sure, why not? I’m in no rush.” Tara sat down as Mistress Krystal put the kettle on the stovetop and got out the Royal Doulton.
“They’ll all want to find other mistresses, for sure. Unless…” Mistress Krystal hesitated.
“No. Don’t bring that up again. I’m not interested. I told you that,” Tara reminded her.
“Why not? You could so easily take over this gig.”
“Oh, no, no, no. That’s never gonna happen!” Tara laughed at the thought.
“Several of my clients know who you are now and they love you. Especially Sissy Boy.”
“Nuh-uh. That’s not love.”
“And I’d be handing you a great source of income on a plate.”
Nothing could have been further from Tara’s mind. Mistress Krystal searched the kitchen cupboards for a b
lack bin liner.
“I’ve had three lessons with you. I’m just not into this stuff.”
“You think I get off doing this shit, day in, day out? It’s a job. I think you could be terrific as long as you stay on script. And you know what? Even a lousy mistress is better than no mistress.”
“Well, that’s not exactly a ringing endorsement,” Tara laughed. “Was I a lousy mistress?”
“Well, I’ve never had a student before. You were the one and only, so that makes you the best student I ever taught.”
As they two them laughed, Tara couldn’t even contemplate working as a professional dominatrix. How could she ever tell Clem? He’d suggested she might want to quit her volunteering to get a job that paid but this could never have been what he had in mind.
“Think it over, hun. Anyway, there’s a client I see once every blue moon. I call him Coco because likes to dress up like a clown, the crazy bastard - makes animals out of balloons, too.”
“That sounds rather fun. Why does he need to do that with you?”
“Well -- while he’s making his little balloon animals, he likes me to stick a baseball bat up his ass.” Tara looked at Mistress Krystal.
“No. Forget it. It’s over. I’m totally done with all this. It…it just wasn’t what I thought it was going to be,” Tara said bluntly. “It’s not sexy.”
“It is to Coco,” said Mistress Krystal in all seriousness.
“No.” Tara stood up. “I definitely won’t be needing any more classes but I wanted to come over here and thank you in person for opening my eyes to a brave, new, scary world.”
Mistress Krystal was visibly disappointed. “Okay, hun. Well, I enjoyed showing you the ropes.” She tapped out a cigarette and lit it, then spluttered a cough.
“The judge is back so soon?”
“Yep. They kinda think of you as an old friend after a while,” Mistress Krystal smirked, still trying to twist Tara’s arm.
“By the way, my real name is not Angelina – it’s Tara.”
“Yeah, I know,” Mistress Krystal took another drag to keep the cigarette tip burning. Any guilt Tara had for being deceitful was immediately replaced by surprise.
“You know? When did you know?”
“The day you first called my number. You can find out anything on the internet these days.” Mistress Krystal gave her a wry smile. Tara felt silly now.
“I thought you were old school and not into technology.”
“Don’t believe everything people tell you, hun. I guess when you realized your husband wasn’t one of my clients you figured it was time to quit.” Tara was gobsmacked.
“What? How the --?”
“You’re a pretty easy read, Tara.”
“Am I? Really? Well, then you deserve an even bigger thank you for taking on someone you knew was being so economical with the truth.” Tara was amazed she’d been so easily rumbled.
“It’s all business,” said Mistress Krystal. “It was easy money.” She handed Tara a cup of tea. “So how did you find my card?”
“It was in my husband’s suit jacket.”
“Yeah? How’d he get it?”
“I’m still working on that one.”
“And he’s not one of my clients?”
“Unless he looks like this guy.” Tara took a small picture of her and Clem out of her bag and showed it to Mistress Krystal.
“Nah. He’s not my type.”
“Good to know!” Tara smiled.
“Well, I’m leaving town in a month. If you change your mind, you’ll make quite a few needy men very happy. Especially Sissy Boy.”
“Well, then. Maybe I’ll think about it.”
“You should. Seriously.”
“Do you really think I could hack it doing this?”
“I know you could. I’ll give you a couple of free lessons to get you a little more up to speed on a few things.”
“Y’know, I’d really like to see myself in action. You said you video everything, right?”
“Yep.”
“Can I get a copy of me and Sissy Boy?” Tara smiled coyly.
Mistress Krystal frowned. “No way. I never let anyone see those tapes. They’re confidential.”
“But if you want me to take over the show, I need to study my technique. I gotta learn to keep the customer satisfied, right?” said Tara, doing her best to look sincere. Mistress Krystal sipped her tea. “When would you need me to start?” Tara winked.
CHAPTER 18
“Did you ever figure out all that bull crap with the dominatrix chick? ‘Mistress Kickass’ or whatever she was called?” asked Lorraine, as she and Tara sunbathed on loungers by the club pool.
Tara smiled to herself. The sun felt good on her face. “Oh, that was all a misunderstanding,” Tara replied casually but Lorraine wasn’t buying it.
“No, no, no, no, no, Tara Drew. Don’t blow me off with that answer. I recall how upset you were. And now it’s no big deal? Do I look that naive? Come on!”
A young blonde Bodyworks server appeared with a drinks menu.
“Hi, ladies! Can I get you two something to drink?” Lorraine shooed her away as she waited for Tara to spill the beans.
“Clem was never seeing that Mistress Krystal woman after all,” Tara shrugged.
“Really? So, let me get this straight: He wasn’t seeing her even though he just so happened to be carrying around her business card in his pocket with Tuesday at five o’clock, written on the back of the card in his own handwriting?” Lorraine rolled her eyes. “Puh-leeze!”
“Clem swore he had no idea how that card got into his pocket. And it wasn’t his handwriting on the card either.”
Lorraine was incredulous. “Good grief woman! You must be the most gullible wife on the planet. What else was he going to say? Guy rule number one is ‘deny everything, admit nothing’ for Chrissakes. You should know that at your age. Oh, I’m so mad I wanna jump in that water right now!” Lorraine boomed.
Tara smiled knowingly. “Go ahead, jump. I believe him. Call it my woman’s intuition -- I know he wasn’t lying.”
“I would’ve hired a private investigator to follow his sorry ass around town till I got slam dunk evidence.” Lorraine bitched.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Lorraine. I would never do something like that!” It seemed Tara’s ability to lie had be honed in recent weeks.
“Well, I sure would have. All men are pigs. So you know for sure he wasn’t seeing this Mistress Krystal?” Lorraine was still appalled at Tara’s naiveté.
Tara answered quietly. “Yup.”
“How?”
“Because I was seeing her.”
“Huh?”
“I was seeing Mistress Krystal.”
“You went to see her? You? As in you, Tara Drew?”
“Several times.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Yup.”
“What? Why?”
“I wanted her to teach me how to do what she does.”
“Oh, no you didn’t!” Lorraine squealed.
“Oh, yes I diddy,” Tara mocked back with a twinkle in her eyes. Lorraine was now confused, bemused and totally intrigued. She leaned over in her lounger to get closer.
“Are you shitting me, Tara Drew?”
“Nope. I called her up and asked her to give me lessons,” Tara admitted. “She said it would cost me three hundred bucks a pop so she became my teacher.”
“Holy crap! I cannot believe you really did that. You did that? Why?” Lorraine was both horrified and impressed at the same time.
“I needed a job,” Tara lied again.
“As a dominatrix? Are you kinky crazy? If you want a job take mine! My damn back’s killing me doing this yoga shit every day. Get back to your story.”
“That’s why I know for sure Clem wasn’t one of her clients.”
“So did you get to whack some of these perverts?” Lorraine was stunned that Little Miss Goody Two Shoes wasn’t quite as goody-goody as she’
d always assumed.
“I did meet some interesting characters that’s for sure.”
“And you got to whip them?” Lorraine’s eyes widened.
“Few times.” Tara confessed.
“Tell me more about this woman,” Lorraine pressed, wanting to know all the juicy, gory details.
“Actually, I liked her. Nice woman.” Tara said, admitting for the first time to herself that Mistress Krystal was actually pretty cool.
“Nice woman? Give me a fucking break. Guys don’t pay her to be nice to them.”
Frank Bergenson’s chauffeur-driven black Lincoln Town car sped through downtown Minneapolis. Sitting in the back seat were Frank and Kurt Fitzgerald.
“Did you break the news to Clem yet?” Fitz asked.
“He knows,” Frank replied in his gravely voice.
“Good,” Fitz grinned.
Frank stared out the window at a large retail store that had gone out of business. “I don’t for a New York minute think that you’re a religious man, Fitz.”
Fitz chuckled. “Maybe not but if Molinaire asks, I was in the choir at Saint Patrick’s Catholic Church.”
“That ‘God Speed’ tagline is dumb. You know that.”
Fitz seemed unfazed. “Client is always right. Even when they’re wrong.”
“It’s not going to put my name on any awards,” Frank said, pointedly. “We’ll take the money this year. But next year you’ll need to bring home a Clio or two.”
“Don’t worry about next year, Frank. You’ll be basking on your yacht in the south of France by then, sailing into Monte Carlo.”
The black Lincoln turned onto Hennepin Avenue and stopped at a red light. Fitz was getting twitchy with excitement but Frank was feeling reflective.
“Yeah, I’m going to miss the place. I’ve been in this business for sixty one years.”
“Jesus. How old are you?”
“Seventy four. Started when I was thirteen in the mailroom at Ogilvy & Mather. Seems like just a few years ago.” Fitz gave Frank an admiring glance.
“Helluva run, Frank. Damn -- to survive that long in this cut throat business – that’s legend.”
“That’s because I was the guy cutting the throats,” Frank said without missing a beat. The light turned green and their car pulled away slowly along Washington Avenue.
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