by Carol May
I have never been so happy to be wrong in my entire life. I am completely surprised when we head out to Key Biscayne. The ride over the seven mile bridge allows me to really enjoy the freedom of this machine. I have no doubt that he knows exactly where we are heading since each turn is deliberate and expected. As we roar down palm tree lined streets, we take one final turn pulling into the back of an old building that appears to have been restored somewhat. I am not sure how I feel at this moment. By the looks of this place it appears to be abandoned. I admit I am concerned. Removing the helmet, I can't help but question what is inside this building. After we both are off the machine, he looks at me only saying, “Trust me.”
Doing my very best to not allow my concern to show, I respond in what I hope is a calm tone, “In case you have a terrible memory, I’m going to remind you that I’m with you. I am not exactly sure about the trusting part, we'll see.” Looking at the two story building I continue, “I do love interesting architecture but I am not sure about this place.” My eyes are drawn to the multiple arches that span the ground floor. Upon closer inspection, I realize those arches seem to be marking something. Blaine explains those are actually enclosed parking spaces for patrons that wish to remain out of sight. Ok. So now not only am I concerned about the building I am beginning to worry about it’s occupants. However, I manage to mumble, "oh, alright."
I am drawn away from my observations when I hear a small laugh escape Blaine as he continues, “If you like Italian then this is the place for you. The chef here is from a small town in Northern Italy. I want to ask you to keep an open mind until you have sampled what’s inside.”
Shrugging my shoulders, I mumble, “I really don’t have much of a choice do I?” I am just a bit nervous about what I am walking into but I can’t hide my fascination with the age of this building. It must have been here quite a while.
With somewhat of a smirk, he places his hand on the small of my back and guides me up a set of metal stairs to what appears to be an entrance. Forgetting about the arches and enclosed parking spaces, my mind is on the rush of heat I felt when he first laid his hand there. I must admit it does feel nice. He is applying just enough pressure to guide me but not push. When we stop, his hand remains just below the waist of my pants. His thumb is gently moving to barley caress me. I’m not sure he realizes he is doing it. As he opens the door, we are greeted by a dark haired older woman. She seems very happy to see him. They are speaking in what I assume is Italian. I hear a couple of words that maybe I recognize, but I really have no idea what they are saying. Suddenly they both turn to me as if I have just magically appeared. Blaine introduces me as his friend. Which I really am not sure we can call ourselves friends but after that ride here I am beginning to think I might someday want to be more than friends. Claire Bella seems nice enough, but something about her is just a little unsettling. Maybe it is the way she continues to look at me with all knowing eyes. We walk into what I assumed would be an open room for dining but what I find are several doors that lead to who knows where. Looking overhead, I see a mural on the ceiling that makes me blush. My eyes can’t help but be drawn to the subtleties of what I am seeing. The artist has captured a woman in pure ecstasy. Blaine leans down and whispers into my ear, “What do you think of the mural, Charli?” With somewhat of a wicked voice he leans in closer and asks, “Will we ever do those things? Will I ever fuck you?” I really have no answer for the questions. My heart says no but other parts of me are screaming yes.
Claire Bella clears her throat, looks at me and speaks in broken English, “Blaine tells me you want some authentic Italian food. You have definitely come to the right place. Follow me. You will dine in the last room on the left.”
I have my doubts about this place but at this very moment I hope we came here for something far less intimate than what I just saw depicted on the ceiling. We appear to be the only people here but I am positive that isn’t the case. I don’t hear any sounds except for the soft instrumental music playing in the background along with the small click of our heels on the polished, dark, wooden floor. As we walk down a short hall, I notice the pieces of erotic art on the wall. The pictures are enclosed in beautiful wooden frames but the frames are not really what I notice. It is the content of the pieces. I never considered myself a prude but holy cow some of these pieces are truly up close and very personal. Stepping through the door to our private room, I am completely surprised. This room makes me feel as if I have stepped back in time at least a hundred and fifty years.
The room is opulent but my eyes are drawn upward to the mural painted onto the tray ceiling. I feel my cheeks began to flush. If I wasn’t just a little stimulated between the ride here and what I have already seen from the artwork then this ceiling mural has finished me. It is clearly a mural of multiple images all erotic some more so than others but the middle of the mural is obviously a man’s head buried between a woman’s legs. There is something about it that makes it difficult to pull my eyes away. It might be the look of pure satisfaction on the woman’s face even though her face actually isn’t fully visible. Somehow, I just know she is being fulfilled. Maybe it is me and the tingling in my nipples as I stare almost spellbound.
Finally, I pull my eyes away to take in the overstuffed burgundy chairs, the small table obviously for two. Everything about this room screams intimate. Blaine directs me to the chair as we sit at the table. “Remember, Charli, I ask that you keep an open mind. Can you see past the artwork? If so, you will find this room, this establishment has many luxuries that very few eateries, if you will, have. Especially here in Miami. Can you do that for the sake of great authentic Italian food?"
Sitting for just a minute, it is taking all of my willpower to focus on what he just said. Even though, I find the words just a little strange I begin to smile. Not sure exactly how to respond to him, I lean back in the chair questioning myself. What do I really care about this place except the type of food I am served? Finally I respond, “Yes, Blaine I do believe I can keep an open mind. I am not sure I really want to know a lot about this place but if you say the food is good then I will put myself into your hands.”
Flashing a little smile filled with mischievousness he says, “Sweetheart if you put yourself into my hands food is the last thing you will be thinking about.”
With just a hint of sass, I respond with, “Well, Sir, maybe food is actually the last thing I want to think about.” I part my lips and lick the front of my lower lip slowly just as the door opens. Looking up to the server, Blaine comments, “impeccable timing as always Angelo.” He continues to speak to the man in Italian. Nodding he sets a tray down and quickly retreats from the room. I look from the tray of delicious looking food to Blaine. With a heart stopping grin, he says, the traditional Italian meal has up to five courses. I gave Angelo instructions to limit our meal to three. I eliminated the salad and desert.”
Being just a tad mischievous I pretend to be upset. "What? How dare you eliminate two courses. You said this was the best Italian place in Miami. I want to experience it all." Catching him with a loss for words, I continue after a brief pause, "I also want you to know that I don't appreciate it that you made that decision without consulting me."
Raising an eyebrow at me, Blaine looks at me with what some would call an amused face then he replies, "I can assure you that had I known you would be so upset about that little insignificant change I would most definitely consulted you. Since I did not let me ask you this. Would you like for me to summon him back and reinstate the two eliminated courses?"
Struggling to maintain my look of anger, I squint my eyes just a bit, as I retaliate with, "Absolutely not." Pausing and allowing a grin to break through, I continue with, "If this establishment is as great as you claim then one would actually have been fine since I must ride your superbike. I am sure it has a great deal more power than I experienced on the ride here. I did find it exhilarating. The feel of the raw power surging through every part of my body was stimulating.”
Sitting across from me, Blaine's face has a smile begin to spread across it. That smile transforms into a look of pure mischief. That's when it hits me like that proverbial ton of bricks. I close my eyes as I sit without speaking because I can feel a slow heat rising over my face. Oh my lord! I have been sitting here rambling on about riding his superbike and the power I felt. However, the look on his face tells me, in his mind I was riding him not his bike. Looking at my wine glass, I am suddenly very thirsty. I pick it up and drain it. More than a little embarrassed, my eyes dart around the room.
A simple statement escapes him, that drives the level of embarrassment I am now experiencing up. "So, it is my understanding then that you like to feel raw power between your legs."
I am not exactly sure as to what type of response I should give. I could go with the old honesty is the best policy thing but at this moment I think the silence is golden philosophy might be just a tad better. Who am I kidding? I rarely go with what is best for me, so I manage to mutter, "yes" leaving it at that. My throat is very dry at this moment. I can't get the wine glass to my lips fast enough. That's when I began my visual search of the room.
Being more of a gentleman than I get the feeling he really is, he cleared his throat and followed with, “If you are looking for the powder room as some tend to call it then the door on the right of the table is for you.”
Mumbling a "thank you" I quickly exit to regroup and give myself a moment. While I am in here, I begin to question myself. This is absolutely crazy. I do not know this man other than what little bit I talked to him over the weekend. What in this world am I doing? Who knows but my stomach reminds me with that little rumble that I must get back out there.
Returning to the table we chat about numerous things but the fact that he knows where I live is getting to me so I ask, “Why did Max know where I live?”
Clearing his throat, he looks at me almost in disbelief. “Charli, I am a very wealthy man. I have many friends but possibly even more enemies. You don't reach the level of success I have without making some. Perhaps not true enemies but several that would go to great lengths to make things difficult for me. Before I decided to attend J. Elliott's gathering, one of Max’s men ran a search on Supreme Corporate Travel. That screening included both you, your partner and employee." Pausing for a minute as the next course is served, Blaine continues as we begin to eat. “Which reminds me, why do you” he pauses as he takes a drink then finishes his question, "only have one employee?”
I could almost feel the tension float away from me. I was sure he was going to ask me what I was doing living in the penthouse of Dade 303 on my income.
“Charli is everything alright?”
Nodding my head, “Yes, everything is fine. I was just lost in a memory there for a second. We only have one because we only need one right now. She is wonderful. Besides, we are just a small start-up.”
Accepting that answer he moves on. “The pretense for this meal was to discuss the behavior of Clea over the weekend. You have to understand her. She is a young woman that rose from nothing to become one of the worlds' top supermodels. Believe me she is living that lifestyle. She can be difficult. I apologize for her behavior.”
Looking straight into blue eyes that remind me of pictures of the ocean in the Caribbean, I say, “So because she had a difficult childhood she should get a free pass when it comes to being rude?” Shaking my head, I continue, “No, I don’t think so. Doesn’t she realize that her success isn’t because she is beautiful? Beautiful women are everywhere. She is successful because of her experiences. She understands how important it is to have money and what life is like without it. She needs to remember her looks won’t always be what there are right now. From what limited conversation I had with her, I am not sure she has enough sense to think about the future.”
Raising his eyebrows, Blaine asks, “Are you finished? If so, may I suggest we put Clea Manderville behind us and move onto other more pleasant topics” as he raises his wine glass to his lips.
Smiling a little sheepishly, I reply, “Yes, I am finished. I promise my tirade about that woman is over.”
Smiling Blaine adds, "I must admit that your brief encounter with her actually sums her up rather well. You are correct in that she needs to grasp the idea that she is beautiful but so are a great many others. As is the woman sitting across from me. Clea is definitely wealthy but she is a good time party girl. If she doesn't manage her financial assets her future will return to a bleak state I am afraid. While I have offered her some advise in the past about certain financial matters that is all her business not mine. Let me assure you that even though we occasionally see each other in no way are we involved as she implied." Smiling, he continues with a quick wink, " I am glad your rant is most definitely over. I do not want thoughts of her to mar our evening."
Standing, he walks around the table, stops beside me, takes me by the hand as he declares he wants to dance with me. "Actually, I want to feel you in my arms. I think the best way to accomplish that is to make use of this soothing, sensual music. Let me restate that. It is the best way for now.”
Blaine is tall. He places his hands on my hips and we just begin moving. My arms automatically go to his broad shoulders. Oh goodness. Our bodies are fusing together. The way he moves tells me he is really good at this. I smile just a little as I think about how I always heard the way a man dances will tell you how he makes love. As he twirls me around my back to his front. I feel his hands on my hips. The grinding we are doing allows me to feel how rock hard he is. Leaning my head back against his chest, I feel his lips very gently on my neck. He finds the spot that drives me wild. That’s when I step away from him clearing my throat. As I wipe away the tear in my eye, I turn to face Blaine except I can’t face him. I drop my head and squint my eyes shut. Drawing in deeply, I raise my head as my eyes find his, I say, “I’m sorry. I was involved with someone and it was a terrible breakup. I am just not ready.”
Placing his hand on my face, running his thumb across my cheek he says, “No need for an apology. I completely understand. If I overstepped my bounds, I am the one that is sorry.”
Holding my hand up to stop him mid-sentence. I smile a shy little smile, saying “I was enjoying every minute of that. Believe me, you did not overstep anything. It’s just too soon for me.”
With a brief nod, he asks “How about if we head back to Bricknell? I can have the desert delivered."
Realizing, I have put such a damper on this evening all I can do is agree to the delivery even if I think it is rather silly. Giving him my closed lip smile I say, “Blaine that would be wonderful but that is a bit extravagant. Believe me, I can live without the dessert. I am sorry about what just happened.”
As we head out the door, he replies, “Charli, there is nothing for you to be sorry about.” We stop in the front of the building as Clara Belle appears. They have a conversation some in Italian some in English. I feel my eyes growing untold amounts when I realize he is ordering a dessert to be delivered to Dade 303.
Chapter 21
I really am trying my best to get back in the land of the living rather than simply going through the motions in the zombie like state I have been in. It takes almost every ounce of energy I possess to do anything other than get up, go to work, go home and go to bed. I did have a few sessions with a therapist but after four or five, I was tired of the crying. That’s what I did each time I walked into her office. Who am I kidding that’s what I have been doing for all these months? I shed tears for me. I shed tears for Houston. I shed tears because I am angry. I shed tears when I am sad. I have simply had one to many tears slide down my cheeks recently.
Making my way into the office today my mind is clearer than it has been in at least four months. I have no idea why that is true but for whatever the reason it motivated me to actually drive to the office today. Generally, I hate driving in Miami. All the drivers are crazy. They dart in and out of traffic at breakneck speeds. They cut you off. Lord
knows, most of them have no conception of how to use a turn signal. I doubt if most of them even know what they are used for. Some days I question how in the world they passed a driving test. Realistically, it isn’t simply the drivers that are crazy. When you live in a city that is a major tourist attraction as well as a port of call for cruise lines there are always lunatics roaming around. That would be the reason I avoid South Beach as much as possible.
This morning just after I stepped out of the shower I found myself standing in front of the envelope staring at it. Most mornings I glance at it but today I simply stood in front of it for a few minutes looking at the unopened envelope that contains the mysterious letter from Houston. It still remains propped up against the vanity mirror that would have been on his side of the bathroom. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I try to rationalize keeping it there unopened. I know it isn’t healthy for me to do this but it is as if I simply can’t bring myself to touch it much less move it. With it there, I have this small amount of comfort that a part of him is still here with me. I tell myself each day that this is the day that I will read it. I know that when I do read it the door on my time with him is not simply closed it will be slammed shut with a great deal of force.