Bettie Page Presents: The Librarian

by Logan Belle

  Regina nodded, hurting for Sebastian, and hurt that he hadn’t confided in her. The night of her birthday, he had appeared to be sharing something real with her, but he actually left out the most important part. The painful part. Just like he somehow failed to mention that he had had a relationship with her boss.

  “Is this supposed to be a warning?” she asked.

  “That might be overstating it,” Margaret said. “But I would like to see you make informed decisions.”

  “I don’t know if there’s a decision to make.”

  “I think there will be,” Margaret said. “As I’ve said, I’ve known Sebastian for all of his adult life. I think he’s a decent person—and an interesting young man. But I’ve seen him at all the benefits; I’ve read about him in the magazines—seeing this woman, dating that woman. He’s one of New York’s most eligible bachelors. They never last long. Frankly, his mother would have been horrified. But I’m sure most of them are happy just for the press, the good time, and the cachet of having dated Sebastian Barnes. I don’t, however, think you are one of those girls. So you will have to decide if you are getting what you want out of the relationship. If not, be prepared to leave—or to be left. ”

  Regina had a familiar sinking feeling in her stomach. This was not what she wanted to hear.

  “I tried to end it the other night, but I couldn’t stick with it,” she admitted. “I just couldn’t do it.”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Margaret said. “It might not have been the right time. I have a philosophy—if you don’t know what to do, then don’t do anything.”

  “Okay,” Regina said, feeling relieved, like Margaret had let her off the hook.

  “But,” Margaret said, holding up a finger, “one day you will know. You’ll know it in your gut. And then you’ll have to act on it.”

  •

  Regina woke on Saturday morning to find she already had a text message from him.

  I’ll be there at noon.

  The sun was streaming into her small room, peeking around her flimsy curtains. Her bedside fan was doing little to combat the heat, but she didn’t like sleeping with the air conditioner on because it always got too cold.

  Regina looked at the clock. It was eleven. Don’t call him, she told herself.

  She kicked off her sheets and dialed his number.

  Sebastian picked up on the first ring. “Don’t tell me you just woke up,” he said.

  “Well . . . yeah,” she said, smiling. She loved the sound of his voice, even when he was implying that she was lazy.

  “Not very enterprising of you.”

  “It’s Saturday.”

  “Exactly. Get dressed. We’re going shopping.”

  “For what?”

  “You need clothes for tonight.”

  “Since when do you include me in wardrobe decisions?” she asked.

  “Since I realized that you don’t understand how much I want you to be happy, Regina,” he said.

  She was silent.

  “Can you give this another shot?” he asked.

  “I don’t even know what that means,” she said.

  “Give me today—and tonight. Can you agree to that much?”

  “Okay,” she said, thinking of Margaret’s words, One day you will know. You’ll know it in your gut. “We can agree on today.”

  CHAPTER 32

  The clothing store was tucked away on a side street in the Village, not far from her apartment. Despite its proximity to her home, she never would have noticed it.

  It was called Guinevere, and unlike the other highly commercialized brands in the shopping district, there were no mannequins or clothes in the window, just red velvet curtains obscuring the interior.

  Sebastian held the door for her, and Regina walked inside. She gasped.

  It was rococo/baroque meets steampunk meets Alice in Wonderland. The only thing missing was a sprinkling of fairy dust as she walked in the door.

  The walls were covered with photographic murals of women with ghostly pale skin, flowing white-blond or cotton-candy-pink hair, rouged cheeks, and rococo gowns with punk or fairy-tale twists: combat boots, corsets, butterfly wings. The furniture—ornate armchairs and brass-framed mirrors propped against the walls and a five-tiered crystal chandelier—could have been taken right off of the film set for Marie Antoinette.

  The dresses, hanging on racks interspersed throughout the scattered pieces of ornate furniture, were not vintage, but contemporary interpretations of every romantic phase of design since the Elizabethan era.

  “Is Pamela here?” Sebastian asked one of the saleswomen. She was diminutive, wore all white, and had narrow eyes underneath heavy bangs, cut not unlike Regina’s own hair.

  Regina leaned against a shelf and almost knocked over a gilt-edged china teacup.

  “She’s in the back room,” said the woman.

  Sebastian took Regina by the hand and led her through the maze of dresses and tables and hat stands to the back of the store. They passed through another velvet curtain into a smaller room, this one bare except for a half-dozen display cases.

  “Hi, Sebastian,” said a tall redhead, unfolding herself from an Edwardian chair upholstered in hunter green and gold.

  “Pamela,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. Regina tried not to feel jealous, wondering if Pamela was also part of the “community,” as he had called it. She hated how she was starting to view everything through the lens of how it related to Sebastian. “This is my friend Regina.”

  Regina looked at him, thinking “friend” was an odd moniker to use to describe their relationship. But then, that was the problem. What were they? Lovers? Bondage buddies?

  “A pleasure to meet you,” Pamela said with a sincere smile, shaking her hand. “And what are you two looking for today?”

  “She needs a mask,” Sebastian said. Regina looked at him, startled. The first thing that came to mind was one of the cartoonish Halloween-type masks on display at Ricky’s. But Pamela led them to one of the nearest display cases. Regina peered down at a colorful display of ornate eye masks suitable for a formal masquerade ball. Gold, lavender, black, sequined, feathered, fringed, trimmed with brocade and dangling ribbons.

  “That one is inlaid with two hundred Swarovski crystals,” Pamela said, noticing Regina’s interest in a gold piece in the center. Pamela produced a key ring and unlocked the case. She handed the mask to Regina.

  “Try it on,” Sebastian encouraged when he noticed her hesitation. Regina complied, slipping it over her head. He helped her adjust it so it rested on the bridge of her nose. She was surprised how clearly she could see out of the eyeholes. She was also surprised by how substantial it felt, unlike the cardboard play masks people gave out at New Year’s Eve parties.

  Alexis handed her a mirror. Regina looked at herself and smiled.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said.

  “That was easy,” Sebastian said. “There’s nothing better than a decisive woman.” He smiled at her approvingly, and Regina felt a swell of satisfaction in her gut. She wasn’t used to pleasing him outside of the bedroom. It felt good. It made her think that maybe there was a chance for another dimension to their relationship, after all.

  Regina removed the mask and handed it to Pamela.

  “Anything else today?” she asked, heading toward the register in the front of the store.

  “Not just yet,” he said. “But if we don’t find what we need uptown, we might be back.”

  The car was waiting for them outside.

  “What is all of this about?” Regina asked, taking the black shopping bag from him.

  “Tonight, we’re going to the Bondage Ball,” he said, opening the door to the Mercedes. Today, he was driving himself. She sat with him in the front seat, and she preferred this to the chauffeured formality of their usual outin
gs.

  “Oh my God, what is that?”

  “It’s not a real ball—just a big party,” he said. “But bondage is a part of it.”

  Regina swallowed hard. “Are you sure it’s a good idea? I mean, I’m fine with everything we do. But I can’t imagine being somewhere public. . . .”

  “It’s not public. It’s a private party. And I hadn’t planned on going. But the argument we had over Sloan made me think we need a little trust exercise.”

  “It wasn’t exactly an argument . . .” Regina said.

  “Misunderstanding. Whatever you want to call it.” He squeezed her hand. “It made me reconsider the ball. I think it will be good for us.”

  “Will Sloan be there?”

  “No,” he said. “Why would she be?”

  “You said she was part of the scene . . . or ‘community,’ or whatever you called it.”

  “Oh, yeah. Well, not so much since getting engaged. Her fiancé is vanilla.”

  Regina had no idea what that meant. He was white?

  “Aren’t I vanilla?” she asked.

  He laughed. “You are adorable.”

  “Don’t patronize me,” she said, feeling stupid.

  “I’m not! Can’t you see I’m crazy-mad for you? You wake up in the morning, and I’ve already planned our day . . . and night. You’re always on my mind, Regina. You’ve totally captivated me. Possessed me. I feel under the spell of one of those magical fairies on the wall in Guinevere.”

  Regina turned to look out the window. “So where are we going to now?”

  “Louboutin. How can you go to a ball without glass slippers?” he asked with a wink.

  •

  The Jane Hotel was a century-old Georgian building on the far West Side. Once a stopover for travel-weary sailors, the recently revitalized ultra-hip boutique hotel was playing host to the Bondage Ball.

  “This place has a lot of history, a storied past,” Sebastian said. Regina held fast to his arm, barely able to navigate the cobbled streets of the Meat Packing District in her new Christian Louboutin heels. She was less worried about falling than she was about scuffing the shoes. They were magnificent works of art. Four inches high, black satin with the trademark red underside, the heels were inlaid with crystals in the shape of snowflake-like stars.

  “It’s not the past I’m worried about,” Regina said. “It’s the present.” She still couldn’t get the words Bondage Ball out of her mind. And she couldn’t say she liked the ring of it.

  “They brought survivors of the Titanic to this place. Kept them here until they finished the American inquest,” Sebastian said.

  “That’s amazing,” Regina conceded. But she had her own disaster to worry about.

  Sebastian knew her well enough by now to sense her anxiety. He patted her hand on his arm. “Relax. The only thing you have to know about tonight is that no one will touch you but me. Do you understand?”

  She nodded but felt far from reassured. She didn’t know exactly what she was worried about. Maybe the idea of someone else “touching” her was too specific. It was more general unease about being out in public, being among people at a venue where everyone knew the subtext of the night was their particular brand of sexuality. Even if they just stood around drinking wine and eating cheese cubes off of trays, everyone would know. This wasn’t just some private little game between Sebastian and her. Tonight, it was real.

  And she was still thinking about the conversation with Margaret.

  He held her hand, and they walked up the stairs into the hotel, pausing just outside the door.

  “Put your mask on,” he instructed. She had been holding it since they left the car, almost forgetting about it even though it was tucked under her arm, too big to fit in her tiny evening clutch.

  Sebastian helped her adjust it over her hair, and then slipped on his own, one of plain black. He wore a black tuxedo. She, too, wore black, an astonishing outfit from Morgane Le Fay that was more costume than dress. It was a silk organza and satin top that crisscrossed in front and tied tightly around the waist with black ribbon. The skirt was a modified hoop skirt, with an opaque, tulle midsection that necessitated a small silk underskirt. If there was one consolation to the evening, it was that she did not feel at all like herself. Whatever happened, she could pretend she was just playing a role.

  She walked inside, her hand tucked in the crook of his arm.

  The entrance foyer was narrow, with high ceilings, decorated with potted, large-frond plants, a moose head on the wall, a candelabra chandelier, and an old-fashioned wooden check-in counter with a formally dressed bellhop in maroon waistcoat and matching cap. She felt as if she’d walked into a Stanley Kubrick film.

  “Good evening,” the bellhop said.

  Sebastian handed him some sort of black card—like a credit card. It was checked against a list, then returned to him.

  “You’ll find the rules for play in the ballroom. Enjoy your evening, Mr. Barnes.”

  Sebastian led her through the hallway to a narrow bar, all dark wood and low lighting, lined with a long settee.

  A tall woman in a shimmering silver gown met them halfway into the room. Her mask was purple, plumed with green feathers and edged in matching sequins. Her blond hair was piled on top of her head in an elaborate chignon, and her lipstick was violet and waxy. “Welcome, friends,” she said. “Proceed to the ballroom. And just a reminder, all of the hotel rooms are for use by guests of the ball. You will find props and toiletries in each room, and they are for your use as you see fit. But the doors must remain open at all times. Any violation of that rule will result in your being escorted off of the premises.”

  Sebastian nodded, and Regina looked at him questioningly. If he saw her glance, he didn’t let on. Instead, he took her hand and led her into the ballroom.

  CHAPTER 33

  The ballroom—if you could call it that—was more like the drawing room of a decaying mansion, one owned by a fabulously wealthy family with the most lavish and eccentric of tastes. If she had to encompass the vibe with one word, she would have to go with Victorian, though that wasn’t exactly accurate. The enormous room had paneled ceilings, vintage cornices, faded Persian rugs, a massive fireplace, and taxidermy specimens; hanging above it all was a giant silver disco ball. There were velvet-covered couches in gold and maroon, antique wooden tables, zebra-covered chairs, large potted plants, chandeliers, and floor-to-ceiling windows with velvet curtains.

  And against the backdrop of the carefully constructed faded glory, men and women dressed in black tie mingled and danced to the DJ, who was playing the Edwyne Collins song “A Girl Like You.”

  Looking up, there was a mezzanine. Regina had the urge to climb the stairs and get a bird’s-eye view of the room.

  A man approached them. He was dressed in a red velvet suit, had slicked-back dark hair, and wore a mask that was beak-like.

  “Will you two be participating in the midnight scavenger hunt?” he asked. “We have a sign-up sheet near the DJ booth.”

  “No, thanks,” Sebastian said.

  Regina actually liked scavenger hunts, and the idea of one taking place at midnight, in a costume of sorts, was intriguing to her.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to?” she asked.

  “Yes. It’s just an exercise to help people bond so they can then segue into more . . . intimate activities later on in the night. We don’t need that.”

  She was distracted by the sight of a man in a tuxedo trailed by another person—it was impossible to tell if it was a man or woman—crawling on hands and knees and encased from head to toe in a black rubber suit.

  “How can someone breathe in that?” Regina asked, shuddering. It looked unnatural and uncomfortable, and she found it disturbing.

  “I’m sure there are air holes. Well, I’m not sure. Latex isn’t my thing,” he said.
r />   Despite her best effort not to, she found herself staring after the odd duo.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” Sebastian said.

  She followed him through a door that was upholstered in leather and studded with brass. They took an elevator up to the second floor and walked down a narrow, wood-paneled hallway. As had been explained to them, the guest room doors were all wide open.

  Regina glanced inside of one, and then quickly looked away.

  The open door revealed a woman naked on a twin bed, bound in an elaborate system of ropes that left her on her stomach, her hands and feet tied together, a ball gag in her mouth. Her bare ass was covered in red welts.

  “Oh my God,” Regina said, grabbing Sebastian’s hand. “Do you think she’s okay?”

  “Of course she is,” he said.

  “Someone just left her there. . . .” The sight was disturbing to her, but she told herself it was just staged—like one of the bondage photos in the Bettie Page book.

  “Regina,” he said, “try to keep in mind where you are. And above all, trust me.”

  Another couple passed them in the hall, walking in the opposite direction. The woman was dressed in a floor-length white dress. The man wore tuxedo pants and no shirt, a leather collar attached to a leash around his neck. His hands were behind his back, obviously bound or cuffed or restrained in some manner. Although both wore masks, there was something vaguely familiar about them. Regina had the distinct feeling that she’d seen them before—that they were celebrities of some kind.

  Sebastian found an empty room and gestured for her to step inside.

  The room was tiny, like a cabin on a ship. It had a twin bed, a flat-screen TV, and a table filled with a disturbing array of bondage items: whips, clamps, cuffs, gags, blindfolds, boxes of unopened sex toys, and a bowl filled with condoms.

  “This seems like a bad idea,” she said.

  “Trust, Regina. Now remove your skirt.”

  She looked at him, but his eyes were cold and set. He was in command mode, and she knew there was no debating him. She was okay taking off the hoop skirt, because she still had the short silk skirt on underneath it. But that was as far as she was going.