Vow of Silence

by Roxy Harte

  “We have a problem.” The coroner draws my attention back to the room’s activity, but now that he has our undivided attention he doesn’t elaborate.

  I get a free ride downtown. Time speeds and slows at alarming rates from that moment. I am hurried into the station and taken to an interview room. Then I wait.

  Wait, wait, wait.

  Exhausted, I end up laying my head down on the table. A homicide detective enters and slams a clipboard down on the tabletop, jerking me awake. “Comfortable? Can I get you a pillow, perhaps?”

  I slowly sit back. If he thinks he can intimidate me by being a smart-ass he needs to try a different approach. Or maybe he could go take classes from my mother and come back when he’s figured out how to do menacing for real.

  “Michael Gregory, age fifty-four, Des Moines, Iowa. Ring a bell?”

  I shrug.

  The detective is only too happy to fill me in. “Senator Michael Gregory, presidential hopeful. He announced his intentions this morning. Are you going to deny any knowledge of that, Ms. Marconi?”

  Maybe I’m being really naïve, but I’m desperately hoping I can get out of this room without having to call Mommy’s lawyer, Archibald Vanderwort. “No knowledge whatsoever. I’m sure that is in the notes taken by the officer at the scene.”

  “You honestly want me to believe you met a stranger at a hotel room for sex?”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Did he pay you?”

  “No!”

  * * * * *

  The sun is coming up over the city by the time I climb into Rachel’s car, the admonishment to not leave town still ringing in my ears. The good news is that I escaped without having to call Archie, making this just one more sordid escapade that Mommy never has to know about. The bad news is Rachel’s driving me home. One look at her face makes me wish I was still in the small gray room being questioned by smart-ass detectives.

  I have not even buckled in when she starts shrieking at me, “On the internet, Gigi? Are you totally insane? You didn’t even know his real name? Or where he was from? You’re lucky he wasn’t a dangerous criminal…or diseased! Gigi! Are you listening to me?”

  It vaguely passes through my brain that under normal circumstances I would be laughing so hard that I would be crying over her assumption that a senator wouldn’t be diseased or a criminal.

  “Gigi!” she shouts, shaking my arm because I’m not paying close enough attention, her voice having faded to the monotone “Wa-wa wa wa wa wa,” of the schoolteacher in the Charlie Brown cartoons. “It could have been you! You could have been the one taken away by the coroner tonight! You could have died!”

  “I wasn’t in danger, Rachel,” I defend, not understanding why she can’t see that. I wait for her to start the engine, to pull into traffic, to do anything that will put distance between me and the police station, but she just sits staring at me. I push my head back against the headrest and close my eyes. I am utterly exhausted, and the sweltering heat inside the car saps what energy I had.

  “God, it’s going to be a hot day. It must be approaching ninety already. If we have to sit here, will you at least turn on the engine so we can have some air?”

  “Don’t try to change the subject! It’s August, it’s hot, get over it.” She does start the engine and turns on the air vents. Thank God, I think as a bead of sweat drips over my temple. I swipe it away, not looking at her as she reiterates shrilly, “You had no way of knowing if you were going to be safe. If the wrong man had met you there, you could have been the one dead! Don’t you get it? I don’t want you dead!”

  I look at her, really seeing her. For the first time ever I realize how badly my actions terrify her. It won’t matter what I say, she will never understand my need. I decide to lie to her, to protect her so she will be able to go home and sleep at night, not worrying about where I am or what I’m doing. “Rachel, stop, I get it. I’m sorry I scared the shit out of you. I’ve been stupid, and you are completely one-hundred percent right. I’ve been playing a dangerous game and I’ve been lucky.”

  Isn’t it funny how promises that we make in the heat of passion always come back to haunt us? Or maybe it’s just me. And maybe it isn’t the promise but the lie cloaked as a ruse of assurance that is so dangerous, because I know even as I tell Rachel, “This will never happen again,” that I am not agreeing I will never meet another stranger for a kinky play session, I am only promising I will never involve her again. I also think that without Rachel watching my back, I may not be as lucky next time. I must be insane, because even so severe a consequence will not keep me from playing. I tell Rachel, “I will find a safer way to indulge my desire to play. This is San Francisco; there are lots of sane, kinky people in this town to play with. I can tone it down. I can play safe.”

  She drove me home. Maybe she even believed my lies.

  I’m like an addict in that regard. Alcoholics lie about their booze, addicts will tell you anything to get money for their next score. Except I’m not a sex addict.

  Chapter Four

  George

  Jasper is already seated at the large table in the conference room when I arrive. I hope he can’t tell how nervous I am about this. My stomach is in my throat. I want nothing more than to wake up and discover the last few months have been a bad dream. I want Garrett to come back. I want our old normal. Looking at Jasper, I think he wants the same thing.

  He is surrounded by proofs and whiteboards, flushed with either dread or excitement and on the edge of his seat.

  I sit so that we face each other. “Show me what you’ve got.”

  “Bedlam,” he says and immediately pulls out drawings for the new signage. It is over the top, flashy, brightly lit. He then proceeds to billboards and advertising layouts.

  By the time he points to the whiteboard mockups to show me his ideas for revamping Lewd Larry’s, I’m starting to see my club…and I suddenly worry what Lin’s reaction will be.

  God. Why am I even thinking this? Lin has nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with this club, with this part of my life. She would probably disagree with that argument.

  My thoughts go to Thomas Stephanopolis. He did it, being a husband to Latisha, father to his children and balancing his alter ego Lord Fyre. How did he ever do it? Balancing a wife and a family with his deviance? I wish he were here. I never thought I’d say that.

  Jasper says, “The Attic would be renamed The Asylum and The Oasis Dining Room would become The Operating Room.”

  I can barely breathe, looking at his proposal for the members-only level. The pet floor cushions and soft lighting replaced with stainless steel and fluorescence. The mostly nude servers would be dressed as sexy nurses, white uniforms and thigh-highs for the women, white t-shirt and white pants for the men. “Our current clientele will be alienated.”

  “There’s proof of a fairly significant shift of local fetish interests in recent years supporting the medical theme,” Jasper explains, adding gently, “I’ve never seen you with a pet, Mr. Kirkpatrick. I assumed your interests might lie in a different direction.”

  He’s right. I don’t own a pet. I find the fetish exhausting.

  “It won’t be Lewd Larry’s anymore,” I whisper, fighting a wave of nausea. I only notice my hand is shaking when Jasper covers it with his own in an attempt to comfort me.

  “You’re right. It will be Doctor Psycho’s realm.”

  “And what about the needs of the kitties and puppies out there? Am I just supposed to kick them to the curb?”

  “No, of course not, but their numbers are fewer than the medical fetishists, and even though there is some crossover, I would propose expanding the current Puppy Pound with a redesign to support the needs of our loyal members.” He flips to another sketch. “We could call it The Animal Hospital. Keeping with the medical theme, we would have Examination Rooms and offer a second smaller dining room, The Waiting Room, with floor cushions and tables, elevator music if you insist.”

  I smirk. The s
oft classical music that is so peaceful to so many in the Oasis obviously isn’t Jasper’s cup of tea.

  “The truth is we’re in a recession and fewer people are tossing around the big bucks for high-priced champagne and Cuban cigars. By offering a more realistic menu at The Waiting Room, dinner numbers might even improve. Open it up to non-members so more people can see and experience the canine-feline fetish.”

  Nervous, I ask, “But the Operating Room will remain five-star and members-only?”

  “Three star, members-only,” he suggests.

  I sigh heavily and pick up the drawing for the proposed Operating Room. I like it. Actually, I get hard just thinking about it. “Too much fluorescence. Keep the soft lighting throughout the room but over each table install round operating lights that are fully adjustable between bright and dim.”

  “So we can begin?”

  My head is nodding in tiny bobs but I still can’t say the words.

  “You should schedule three months of downtime with a grand reopening.”

  “Close Lewd Larry’s completely? No. That would be disastrous.”

  “You’ll lose the wow factor if you make the changes in increments.”

  “We can’t afford to close the doors completely.”

  “Thirty days?” Jasper implores. “And keep the public nightclub open.”

  I shake my head. “We can’t lose the cash flow from the private sessions in The Attic.”

  “Aside from a name change, little will change on the fourth floor. Maybe new carpet, different lighting and music. We could do all those things on our closed days. I could schedule the switch from The Attic to The Asylum to happen this Sunday and Monday. We’ll make the announcement that The Oasis and Puppy Pound will be closed for two weeks for renovations and extend everyone’s membership for one month for the inconvenience.”

  I push my fingers through my hair nervously. “Are we doing the right thing?”

  “It’s what Garrett wanted.”

  “I just have doubts.”

  “Mr. Kirkpatrick, we both saw the will. Joel and Morgana confirmed it was his handwriting.”

  I know. I know. I just don’t want to believe it. “Do what you have to do.”

  He knows he’s been dismissed, and I’m sure he thinks my foul mood is entirely fueled by the changes he proposed. If he only knew.

  I’m completely overwhelmed. All I can think about is Lin.

  I clear my calendar, making changes to the schedule as needed to allow me some time away. I should have done this weeks ago. My mind hasn’t been in a good place since being informed of Garrett and Celia’s deaths.

  I need a vacation.

  * * * * *

  I’m losing my mind, but just to prove it to myself I show up unexpectedly at Lin’s studio. She answers the door wearing flame-retardant overalls and goggles, irritation plain on her face—until she sees it is me. She smiles widely, pushing her goggles up on top of her head. Her face is smudged and she isn’t wearing any makeup but her beauty glows.

  “George! What a nice surprise.”

  “I hardly believe that. You appeared ferocious when you opened the door.”

  She laughs and pulls me inside. “I’m so sorry. I’ve had nothing but interruptions all day and my showing is very soon.”

  “I shouldn’t be here.”

  “Nonsense. You are a welcome interruption. I needed to take a break anyway. Sit, I’ll make us some tea.”

  I don’t sit on the futon offered. I follow her to the small kitchenette and watch her fill a teapot with water.

  “Something is wrong. What is it?” She lights the gas burner and faces me.

  “I’m glad you called me. I’m so glad we reconnected.”

  She frowns and I realize she must think I am about to end the relationship, but that is the last thing on my mind.

  “I’ve recently realized how out of balance my life is. Being with you has shown me just how one-sided my life is. I’ve become all work and no play.”

  She tends the teapot but I know she is still listening.

  “If we are going to pursue a relationship, I need to come clean with you. I’m the sole owner of the nightclub known as Lewd Larry’s.”

  She pivots jerkily to face me. “What? The place you work? You own this place?”

  “Yes.”

  I can tell by her shocked expression she is even less impressed to learn this bit of news than when she discovered what I did for a living.

  “You lied to me?”

  “No. This is recent. The owner died and left the business to me.”

  She looks relieved. “You could close the business? Sell it? Reopen your medical practice?”

  Oh God. How did her mind leap to that conclusion?

  “No, Lin.” I try to sound patient, “I’m not selling. I’m not reopening my psychiatric practice.”

  Her face drops, her disappointment evident. “Oh. I thought you might… Well, I guess it doesn’t matter what I thought.”

  I cup her cheeks in my hands, lifting her face to force her to meet my gaze. “I enjoy our time together, Lin, and I need to know if you are going to be able to deal with the man I am.”

  “The man you are?”

  “Yes, Doctor Psycho.”

  “Your stage persona?”

  I lead her to a chair and we sit. I hold her hand. “Doctor Psycho is more than just a stage persona. It’s who I am now. I can pretend to be normal George Kirkpatrick when I’m with you, but the truth is, that guy is more fabricated than the man I am at work, and in the weeks to come that will become even more true.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The name of the club is being changed from Lewd Larry’s to Doctor Psycho’s Bedlam.”

  She blinks at me.

  “We are completely redesigning the club and launching a major advertising campaign. As we transition the club, my role is going to become center stage. I’ll become more recognizable around town.”

  The teapot whistles and she stands to pour the water into a ceramic container. She adds the tea and waits while it steeps, not looking at me. “Why are you telling me this? So I won’t freak out when I see your face plastered over billboards?”

  I actually hadn’t considered my face stretched ten feet high.

  She pours tea into two dainty cups as if she hadn’t just asked hard-to-answer questions. Standing, I walk over to her and prevent her from putting the cups on the small bamboo tray. “I want to know if you will be too embarrassed to be seen with me, and of course we must consider what repercussions there will be if your grandmother learns of our relationship.”

  “Our relationship?”

  “I want to be with you—every available second—I think I’m falling in love with you.”

  She meets my gaze but shakes her head. “You think?”

  “Lin.” I kiss her so as not to leave a doubt. “I love you.”

  There, I said it. I’ve proved my insanity. After a year of veiled conversations, limited intimacy and sexual barriers I see no way around, I’ve admitted my feelings.

  Why now?

  Why not now?

  “I was just at a meeting with the guy who is helping me with the redesign and I could barely focus. I kept thinking about you and how you were going to react to the changes that are happening in my life. I kept thinking about making love to you last night…in my bed…and you have no idea how significant that is but it has been over a decade since I’ve enjoyed that kind of intimacy. I realized I would be a happier man if I slept beside you every night.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I don’t know exactly, other than to say I want you to be part of my life.”

  Lin moves the cups to the tray and carries the service to a low table. She gestures for me to sit on a floor cushion. I guess we’re having tea.

  I sit. She sits. We both sip tea.

  Hiding behind her cup, she admits, “I was working very hard today. I was hammering metal, really pounding it with eve
ry ounce of my being, even though it was unnecessary work, all because I wanted to stop thinking about what happened in your kitchen. I can see it in my head. My feet in stirrups. You, wearing a mask and rubber gloves. The speculum.” She looks away, blushing. “I thought about you invading my body with tools and fingers, believing some of it might hurt or be uncomfortable. I thought about the humiliation and embarrassment…”

  “We’ll take your introduction to kink slow,” I promise.

  “And what if I hate it?”

  “Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  I unzip her jumpsuit and she struggles.

  “I’ve been working. I’m hot and sweaty.”

  I kiss her chest between her breasts. She smells warm and musky, womanly.

  “I stink, George!”

  “Mmm, you smell edible.”

  I pull her arms free and keep forcing the material down. Beneath the coverall she is wearing a clingy tank top and shorts. Bending over her, I push up her top to scatter kisses on her midriff. Her scent fills the air and I inhale theatrically. “You smell horny.”

  She giggles. “Being near you keeps me horny.”

  I pull down the coveralls and shorts in a swift action, working the fabric free of her heavy work boots. I step back to look at her in just the white wifebeater and black boots. “God, you are so sexy.”

  Her lips part but she doesn’t say anything. I realize she is panting, obviously as hot for me as I am for her.

  “It hardly seems fair that you are still wearing all of your clothes.”

  I grin lecherously. “I think I promised you pain the last time we were together. More specifically that I was going to help you find pleasure in pain.”

  Her eyes widen. I love the combined look of curiosity and fear. I drink it in before leaning in to kiss her.

  “Tell me you want me.”

  “I want to take a shower.”

  Behind her ear, I inhale deeply. “You smell like a hot, horny woman.”

  She pushes against my chest. “You can shower with me.”

  I hold her tightly and work my way down her body. I push my face between her breasts and inhale again. “Mmm, salty.”