The Mistress and the Mouse

by JJ Giles

  “She’s sleeping,” the nurse protested.

  Jerry huffed and thrust the door opened forcing the man out of his way. Even the bedroom doors were locked but rather than wait for them to be opened, he kicked them open.

  “Don’t hurt me,” Cheryl screamed, but it wasn’t fear, merely rage.

  “You fucking whore!” Jerry yelled in front of the servants, no less, something he’d never done in the past. “My son was here today and you let him believe I did this to you.” He cocked a knee and placed it on the bed the better to lean over her and drive his point to its conclusion. “You got exactly six months to make other arrangements, Mrs. Abernathy, or I will make them for you.”

  Her lips snarled in aggravated delight. “And just exactly what do you think you’re gonna do, baby? You want the world to know exactly how it all went down, do you?”

  Her threat. Her constant threat. To expose him to the world and blacken the image of the Abernathy Family.

  “Six months, bitch and you’re outta here.” He rattled the bed so that she could feel the pain he wanted desperately to inflict. His dark eyes drilled into hers; his fury spilled around her with the same molten quality with which their son departed.

  “I’ll play,” she said with her usual cocky snideness. “May the best strategist win.”

  A sudden almost uncontrollable urge to strangle her assaulted him. Rather than succumb to it because his plans were bigger, he jerked away and made for the door.

  “Hey, baby,” she cooed, sprawling naked on the bed, ready to be taken by whoever had the cash. “Just remember, he doesn’t yet know he’s not your son.”

  Jerry hesitated to allow those words ring in his head for a moment. Not my son, as his chin fell to his chest to let the heaving ache in that subside. Yet he moved silently on to his own rooms.

  Not my son. He dropped his jacket, yanked at his tie and fell to the chair. But he is my son, as he peered at the mantle filled with pictures of Brian and his sister, Cherry. They’re both mine. I alone raised them, as tears rushed to his eyes.

  * * * *

  Sitting alone in the whirlpool didn’t help the churning in Brian’s heart. But he could no longer stand aside, could no longer ignore what was happening to his mother. His father was going to kill her.

  Still wet, he crept through the evening twilight and lit a few candles on the dresser and night tables. Without will he fell into the bed and lit a cigarette. His mom was going to be murdered and he would be responsible because he knew it was happening. His father wouldn’t be indicted for domestic violence. It would be first-degree murder.

  Even Abernathys can go to prison, he thought, but the likelihood that that would actually happen was minimal. For countless millions of dollars, it would be written up as an accident. The truth was, Jerry would get away with murder because the only witness to testify would be made to appear the self-interested son.

  Brian knew of only one person that could help. Only his precious Morgan.

  * * * *

  Happily, Morgan sighed as she slowed to let the iron gates at the road slowly open and let her through. She had begun to think she was going to fail on this current case, but tonight...tonight, she thought wistfully, she had made some progress. It’s so horribly hard for some people to understand what others feel, but she believed her current case understood tonight.

  Filled with the elation success brings, she bounded through the garage door. “Hi, Baby,” she cooed at Kitty and bent to kiss her tenderly. “How are you today?”

  Morgan’s wine was already poured and Kitty placed it on the bar counter in front of Morgan’s usual stool. Quickly, Morgan drank it to cure her thirst, but the way Kitty offered her breasts, the dismal expression alerted Morgan to a pothole in the road.

  “What happened?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s Mouse,” she muttered under her breath.

  “What?”

  “He wouldn’t tell me. He doesn’t look good. He’s upstairs.”

  Morgan slammed the glass down and ran. Panicked, she took the circular stairs two at a time. She threw the door of the master suite open only to see the candlelight flicker on the currents she created and feel the pall hanging over the room.

  “Honey?” she cried out, seeing the dark silhouette on the bed, and ran to him.

  “Hi, baby,” he whispered and wrapped her into his arms.

  “Baby, what’s the matter?” she asked, her voice trembling with concern. His body felt like it was on fire. “You’ve got a fever.”

  “Ehhhh,” he growled, obviously frustrated. Gently, he let her go. “Shitty day, that’s all.”

  Her head cocked at the sarcasm in his reply. “That doesn’t happen too often.”

  He pulled himself to lie against the headboard, the sound of skin on satin something that always soothed Morgan. Just to know he was so close. He lit another cigarette, one of her Virginia Slims. “I’ve got good news and bad news,” he whispered. “I was on my way home from Hideaway Hill Drive today...”

  A happy squeal interrupted his confession. “Billionaire’s Row! You booked a client on Billionaire’s Row?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Baby, you have arrived,” she gushed. “I’m so proud of you. Is she pretty?”

  Gently, Brian smiled at Morgan’s jealousy and turned on the light. “She happens to be JD Rockingham, Baby. Wants his entire property torn up and replanted.”

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered, so elated that he had attracted the attention of someone that famous, someone that wealthy, who would give Brian carte blanche to create something fabulous. JD Rockingham, she thought. One of the creepier billionaires in the neighborhood. “I’m so proud of you. Is he one of those prep school-yacht club-Billionaire Boy’s Club types, though?”

  On that, Brian closed his eyes. Morgan hated the affectations of the rich and nefarious. She had met so many of them by now...men and women both who treated her as nothing but a whore. But to have to admit that he was a scion of that breed caused his heart to quake. “Seems like a nice guy. Saw the bit on Home and Garden.”

  “And just up and called you because of it?”

  Brian nodded with a smile. “E-mailed.”

  “So what could the bad news possibly be?”

  He slid his fingers between hers and pulled her hand to his chest. “I have to drive by my parent’s house to get there.”

  Instantly, Morgan froze inside. That he was estranged from his family she knew early on. That he only spoke of them occasionally never worried her. Some people are better off apart, family or not. He had also told her his father was a wife-beater.

  “Yeah...” Morgan whispered to gently prod.

  “So...idiot that I am, I stopped in. Course, the old man was at work, knew he would be, but there was my mom laying in her bed with broken ribs, foot, arm, Morgan, her face is so bruised...” His hands rubbed at his face to hide the tears. “I don’t know what the hell to do. He’s gonna kill her.”

  Heavily, Morgan sighed. “Obviously, it’s time you go talk to her and try to convince her to come here, Honey.”

  “Morgan,” Brian rasped. “You can’t be serious about that. Bring my mother here? Into our life? Honey...” Anything but that.

  “Why not?” Morgan asked. “So we’ll have to wear clothes. She doesn’t have to go downstairs and see the dungeon. We’ve got ten bedrooms here, three of which are occupied. That leaves seven available. It doesn’t have to be permanent. Just long enough for her to get her feet under her and figure out what she wants to do with the rest of her life. How old did you tell me she was?”

  “Fifty-three.”

  Morgan shrugged. “Lotta life left. What’s she do for a living?”

  Inside, Brian smiled at Morgan’s innocence. He would never tire of it. “She’s never worked, Honey.”

  “Well, maybe she could find something she likes to do. I think between us we could afford to send her to school, don’t you?”

  Filled with pride, Brian smiled. �
�You are so sweet,” he whispered as he gathered her up again. “I’m afraid there’s more to it than that. So you tell me, Baby. Why do women put up with that shit?”

  “A lot of reasons,” she whispered. “You said your father’s a fairly well-off businessman. Could be the money. Some women are just scared, obviously. They believe their husbands are going to hunt them down and kill them. Some do. There’s a breed I’ve met that actually enjoy the attention. They get beat up and get to go to the hospital, get lots of attention from the staff, from friends and family over it. But that kind of care and concern only lasts so long when the people around the ‘victim’ begin to realize what’s going on.”

  That statement reminded Brian of his Aunt Colleen. Colleen had no more care or concern for the victim than she would have for a dead squirrel in the street.

  “Does any of that sound like your mom?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Does she have a nurse with her?”

  Brian nodded as he lit a cigarette. “I told her I wanted to put her in a hospital, both for her physical problems and also for a psychiatric evaluation.”

  Gently, Morgan laughed.

  “What?”

  Adamantly, Morgan shook her head. “Your mother is a victim, honey. In her own mind, she’s a victim. She’ll always be a victim, whether it’s your father’s, a salesgirl at a store, the meter reader who mouths off to her one day. The problem will always be ‘out there’ because in her mind she doesn’t have control over anything. She doesn’t even have enough control to get up and walk out.”

  “So there’s nothing I can do?”

  “Not for her. Not until she can draw the conclusion that she doesn’t want to live like that any more. Your father on the other hand...”

  Aggravated, Brian growled.

  “Honey, you know I’ve had a lot of success with rage management. People, men and women both, can learn to control their rage before it gets out of control and someone gets hurt. I’m not saying I want to see him, but you know there are other opportunities around the city for that.”

  “What makes a man beat his wife?”

  “Frustration. Rage. Insecurity. Mostly, a sense of guilt, I think. In their minds, wife-beaters and husband-beaters both, see their spouse as causing their problems. Somebody might have smarted off to them at work and they come home frustrated and all the spouse has to do is say one wrong thing. Sometimes, I suppose the frustration with the spouse is justified. People run around on each other and that hurts. People spend money and bankrupt the family. But beating someone near to death is not justifiable. Mostly, I think, the people who get beat are merely reflections of inner turmoil to the abuser.”

  “You don’t happen to feel like beating me just now, do you?”

  “Oh, you sweet little masochists,” she whispered, knowing these emotional entanglements always unhinged him. She stood and removed her clothing, only to slide in beside him. Her tongue licked at his neck to gain his attention. “Listen to me. Until something happens to change the dynamics of the relationship or end it finally, nothing is going to change. You interfering is only going to exacerbate the situation. The only thing you can do is call her or go see her and offer her a safe place temporarily or permanently. If she accepts, it’s because she’s ready for a change. If she declines it’s because she’s getting something out of it. We may not understand what it is, but there’s a payoff somewhere.”

  “You would really allow her to come here?” he asked only to clarify.

  “Honey, I don’t have a problem with it. You know I take care of most of my business in town anyway. And if she’s the skittish kind, she doesn’t have to know that my favorite thing is taking you downstairs and breaking a pretty little riding crop over this gorgeous thing.” She fondled his flaccid penis. “I’ll haul you downtown for that.”

  “God, I love you, baby,” he croaked as he scooped her tightly into his arms. “I’m not sure I want our lives turned inside out over it.”

  “It’s something you’d have to be as committed to, as you would be for having a baby around the house. You can’t decide three months down the road that she should be able to handle it on her own and hit the road. If she hasn’t made any changes she would just go back to your father and in her mind, become your victim. ‘My son doesn’t want me, either,’ kind of shit.”

  “I see that now,” he whispered. Heavily, he sighed.

  Yet Morgan was elated that Brian was even thinking of it. In the back of her mind it sometimes occurred to her that he was ashamed of her. Ashamed of how she made a living and didn’t want his parents to know about it. But that he loved her, adored her she never doubted.

  “So you just need to give yourself some time to figure out where you’re at,” she said softly.

  “Does my mom have time?”

  “As long as there’s a nurse in the house, honey. People rarely beat up someone else in front of witnesses unless it’s their children.”

  Brian nodded. That was true of his father, at least.

  “So.” She moved to straddle his body, her hot, wet slit burning into his belly. “We’ll have dinner and then we’ll take your mind off it awhile and let it stew around in there until it makes sense to you.”

  His eyes narrowed into a deep salacious leer. “I’m crazy about you, you know.”

  “I know,” she teased, the tips of her hair brushing over his chest to tickle it. Seductively, she stretched long to drive her burning nipples into his chest. “I think we should both take tomorrow off and have some fun.”

  He reached up and took the generous flesh on her chest into his hands. His face buried between them to drink down the scent and feel the warmth.

  “But aren’t you starting with a new guy tomorrow night?” he asked.

  Morgan shrugged. “Just a premature ejaculation problem, honey. He doesn’t sound emotionally fragile...like a missed appointment would be rejection for him.”

  Gently, he opened his mouth on that flesh, the better to taste. “How ‘bout I just meet you in town and take you and Kitty to dinner somewhere?”

  She rolled her eyes. He didn’t want to take the day off just to play. “Uh huh,” she teased. “How ‘bout we give Kitty the weekend off, and I’ll just stop in at Fontainebleau tomorrow night by myself and find someone who can appreciate me.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He knew she wanted to play ‘pick up.’

  “There’s some pretty classy guys that hang out there,” she commented.

  “As a matter of fact, there is,” he said. “Fontainebleau, huh? Maybe I’ll stop in. Who knows?”

  Just then Kitty moved through the door with the tray, a single meat platter filled with mashed potatoes and gravy, thoroughly roasted beef and a pile of corn with biscuits and butter on the side. She had Morgan’s refilled glass and brought a cold beer for Mouse with two sets of silverware. How cute, they ate off the same plate.

  “You want the weekend off, baby?” Brian asked.

  “Hell, yes. Does the weekend start now?” Kitty squealed.

  “As soon as you fix me a bottle and get rid of this tray,” Morgan said.

  “Coool,” Kitty squealed and headed back to the kitchen.

  * * * *

  Dinner was over, the lights off, leaving only the candlelight to illuminate the room in shadows of soft lavender. Brian draped over her lap, his head nestled comfortably in the crook of her arm. Quietly, he slurped from her breast.

  Soundlessly, Kitty approached with the pint-sized bottle filled with warm beer. She slid onto the bed into Morgan’s other arm. “He’s beautiful,” Kitty whispered to see the light diffused over his eyelids, the thick brows flinching with his satisfaction, knowing Morgan was the singular cause of his contentment.

  “Yes,” Morgan breathed. “He is beautiful.” Tenderly, she brushed through his hair dragging her nails over his scalp. “You’re leaving 'til Monday?”

  “You’re sure you don’t need me, Mistress?”

  “You go on,” Morgan said. “H
ave fun.”

  Kitty raised to press her lips to Morgan’s for a tender kiss. “I will. Thanks.” Filled with adoration, she swept down and planted another on Morgan’s nipple.

  “Grab me another diaper,” Morgan whispered. Quickly, Kitty threw it on the bed and danced out the door.

  Morgan took the bottle and brushed the adult-sized nipple against her baby’s cheek. He broke from her breast with a loud smack and swallowed the nipple into his mouth as she held the bottle. Easier to get drunk on warm beer than the pleasure of her breast, and she smiled as she pulled him a little closer and slid her hand into the diaper to gently knead his balls.

  That he needed a mother was always evident to Morgan. Never met a man who didn’t. But his mother...who was she? He had always seemed satisfied to let Morgan be his mother. Let Morgan be his lover, his mistress, his playmate. Satisfied until now.

  Chapter Two

  Jerry Abernathy sat alone in his office reading the last of the current information on Morgan McFaye. A sex therapist by day. A nasty little dominatrix by night.

  “Interesting,” he whispered as he pulled the keyboard in front of him. “Could be very interesting.”

  Lady Morgan, his e-mail began. You are reputed to be the kind of woman I can appreciate. I was given your name by a very satisfied client. If you have any room in your schedule, please let me know.

  Anxiously, Jerry’s fingers drummed the desk. Too soon to actually get involved with her. Certainly didn’t need the press hearing about it, so he merely filed it and opened her website.

  Sitting back in the chair, he stared at her picture. “My son thinks I’m beating his mother,” he told her. “My son thinks you can help me. I think my son wants my attention badly enough to come to my office and make an ass of himself. So Lady Morgan...how exactly are you going to help? I can easily see you in my Lair, chained to my Wheel of Misfortune suffering your punishment. I can easily hear your voice pleading for pardon. And if you work out as well as I think you will, my son will get his one and half billion dollars back.”