Reaching Lily

by Vivacia K Ahwen

  Jaz and Gamma used to make me take cornstarch baths when I was small and sunburned. Comes down to this: in Revere, Mass., we’re either Irish, Sicilian or some mongrel mix. Thanks to my heritage, sunburn was my regular state of being in the summertime, even just from walking around the block. It’s not like I was a beach baby, as our coastline was littered with dirty nappies, soiled tampons and crumpled cellophane. SPF 50 has been my best friend, ever since I began to go crimson and peel from sunshine unglamorously reflecting off white concrete onto Irish skin. My hometown doesn’t have a lot of trees. Shade was a luxury, so you had to make it yourself sometimes.

  Dorian Holder and I were making some serious shade.

  * * *

  A Siddhartha-friendly chime jarred me back to the present, so I cooled my jets. Literally. I pressed the button and stopped the foam.

  ‘Lily Dewitt, Sex Goddess.’ I cleared my throat. ‘How can I help you, Mr Holder?’

  ‘You’re enjoying your new phone, I see.’

  ‘Duh.’

  ‘Breakfast was to your liking?’

  ‘When I get home and have some time on my hands, trust me, I’m giving a five-star Yelp review.’ I twiddled my sopping, nappy hair. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Everything.’

  ‘You as well.’ His voice was crisp.

  ‘Is someone there with you?’

  ‘No.’ There was a rattling, chugging sound. ‘Just reviewing my notes from this morning’s meeting. These numbers are shit. I’m flipping the paperwork over so I can focus. Lily, hello. How are you?’

  ‘Is that your toy train I hear in the background?’

  ‘Lily, it’s a model, not a toy. And, yes, I may be running the train around my office.’ He let out an annoyed sigh, as though having Lionel trains in your office wasn’t totally queer. ‘I asked, “How are you?”’

  ‘Me?’ How was I? ‘Like any girl named Lily sitting in a tubful of vibrating, bubbly lily-petals might be, after having a night of strange with a mysterious, remote billionaire, sleeping in a room that would cost about four months of my rent, with a dairy stomach-ache. Et tu, Brute?’

  ‘That’s not an answer.’

  ‘Such a loaded question, Dorian.’ I took a breath. ‘Fine.’

  ‘Fine as in “It’s a wonderful day” or fine as in woman fine?’

  ‘Dorian Holder, when you generalise, you come off as a wicked chauvinist, and should watch your tongue. I am fine, as in person fine. And much appreciative of the cornstarch bath. Seriously. My bottom is on fire.’ Catching myself smiling, I added, ‘Your spanks are most unforgiving, Mr Holder.’

  ‘I never asked to be forgiven.’ He was pleased. ‘And I am a chauvinist.’

  ‘What if I don’t want to go shopping with your sister? Or half-sister, whatever she is?’

  ‘Do you not want that? Because other than coming to the office – which I won’t allow – anything you’d like to do today is up to you. Entirely up to you. We agreed you needed to find more appropriate attire for the office, and I’m keeping my promises. You’d expressed an interest in ballet, and I’ve set you up with a former Harvard School of Dance instructor. I thought you’d be pleased.’ Dorian sounded perplexed. ‘After your face-off with Beezus, you and she should get along splendidly. Not many have the balls to give her guff, and you’re a guff-giver.’

  ‘A what? And don’t use “balls” for “bravado”, please.’

  ‘Also, as far as I’m concerned, there’s no difference between sister and half-sister.’ He paused. ‘I don’t like your tone, Ms Dewitt.’

  ‘You may have to get used to my “tone”, Mr Holder.’ I popped open the champagne bottle and the cork smacked into the fogged mirror. ‘To some degree. At least when we aren’t having a situation.’

  ‘Don’t defy me, Lily.’

  ‘I’m sending you a picture, Dorian.’ I giggled. ‘If I can figure out the camera thing here … and let me turn the jets back on so I can get ready …’

  ‘Lily, I have another meeting in ten minutes. Don’t make me walk in with a hard-on.’

  ‘Five minutes is all you’ll need to take care of that,’ I said, before hanging up. High from the sound of Dorian’s voice, with a vivid flood of body memories from mere hours ago, the aromatherapy and detoxifying water, I couldn’t have been much more relaxed. I spread my legs wide and leaned into the most powerful jetstream, until I was just this side of climax. With one hand holding the phone, one hand playing with my clit, and the pounding stream of water roiling into my fuckhole, I managed to click, just as I came, without dropping the phone.

  Somehow.

  My body slumped, and, if a limp rag could be happy, I was a limp rag. I dropped my shiny new phone onto the slippery tiles. Massaging my scalp with the complimentary rosemary mint shampoo not only was relaxing, but kind of brought me back to reality, just as the phone chimed.

  ‘Mr Holder.’ I took a swig of champagne. ‘You must stop calling this number.’

  ‘Keep talking, Lily,’ he said, sounding gruff. ‘No one is in the office, I’ve got you on speaker and I’m looking at this beautiful shot of your pussy, right before you came. You’re spread so wide, and your clit looks so swollen …’

  ‘You want me to tell you a story while you jerk off?’ I asked him. ‘Hope you’ve got some lotion in one of your drawers, because I’m going to tell you what I did last night. What we did last night. And you’re going to remember, and you’re going to come so hard you’ll be cross-eyed for the rest of the morning.’

  ‘Talk to me, Lily,’ he muttered. ‘I’m locking the door.’

  ‘Why don’t you sit down on the couch and make yourself comfortable, Mr Holder?’

  ‘I’m ready,’ he said.

  ‘Let me tell you a story,’ I said, trying to make my voice as seductive as possible, ‘of a sexually frustrated young woman named Lily. One morning, while she was running late to work …’

  I tried to describe my last 48 hours to Dorian Holder, but only got as far as him fondling me under the table at Bar Boulud before he came.

  ‘I cannot wait to see you tonight,’ he told me, once he caught his breath. ‘Am I picking you up in Cambridge, or are you coming back to the hotel?’

  ‘I don’t know. Give a shout this afternoon, and we can hatch a plan.’

  ‘The ballet is at seven-thirty. You’ll want to wear one of your new frocks. Also, I am putting in a special request for the spike heels you wore last night. Your legs looked luscious.’ He was smiling; I could hear it in his voice. ‘As far as your undergarments go, surprise me.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ I stretched my leg out, admiring the fine waxing job the ladies had done on me yesterday, and how cute my gold-polished toenails looked. Looking at myself through Dorian Holder’s gaze was doing wonders for my self-esteem. ‘We should probably establish some ground rules beyond “Mercy” if we’re going to be spending some quality time. We need limits.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I don’t like getting choked, so don’t try it.’

  ‘Not my thing, either. Except – oh, never mind.’ He paused. ‘Though I wouldn’t be opposed to walking you around with a leash. What are your feelings about collars, with perhaps a gentle tug here and there?’

  ‘Don’t know. Never tried it.’

  ‘But you’re open to it, which pleases me.’ I could picture him raising that eyebrow, like he does so very well. ‘What else won’t you do?’

  ‘I don’t mind being gagged with a scarf or, say, a 24K-gold necktie … but not a gag ball. They creep me out.’

  ‘Oh.’ He sounded dejected. ‘Just the way they look, or how they feel?’

  ‘Haven’t used one, so just the way they look in the movies, I reckon.’

  ‘Perhaps you’ll “reckon” to change your mind at some point.’ He tried to keep his voice light, though he was disappointed. ‘What else?’

  ‘Since I can’t say “Mercy” around a mouthful of cock, here’s a guideline. As you m
ay have noticed, I’m more than happy to deepthroat. You were a perfect gentleman, but some guys do this “head dribbling” thing, which I hate. It means the blowjob is over. So don’t ever do that.’

  ‘By dribbling, do you mean like a basketball?’ He was amused.

  ‘Yeah, grabbing my hair and shoving my head up and down. Even though I’m in a vulnerable position when I’m going down, it makes me feel powerful. I don’t want that taken away.’ I reflected for a moment on what turns me off. ‘Also, no doing anything that could cause permanent marks. For example, I wouldn’t mind some hot wax, but there will be no cigarette burning.’

  ‘Good God, Lily, of course not.’ Dorian was shocked. ‘Just how experienced are you?’

  ‘Not very. Except for a few arrangements I’ve had, the males in my life have been pretty much meat ’n’ potatoes.’ I rested my head on the bath pillow. ‘But I know what I want and what I don’t.’

  ‘You think, you don’t know. Anal?’

  ‘Not with a penis the size of yours. Sorry.’ Just thinking about having that giant thing up me made my bum hurt. ‘But fingers, plugs and beads? Green light.’

  ‘Before I’m back in Colorado, I’ll have been there at least once,’ he declared, as though he were talking about a tourist attraction. ‘You’ll be demanding it.’

  ‘Yeah, good luck with that, Dorian. Nothing else occurs to me, so we’ll make it up as we go. How about you?’

  ‘Anything goes with me, with the exception of a third party in our bed.’

  Our bed? ‘Cool, yeah. Me, too.’

  ‘Though I wouldn’t mind having a third party watch me fuck you.’

  ‘Really?’ I was intrigued. ‘Like, right there in person, or do we film ourselves?’

  ‘Either or both.’

  ‘I’m getting turned on again, and your sister’s going to be here in about half an hour, Dorian.’ I rubbed my eyes. ‘Let’s continue this conversation another time. Better yet, send over a list of wills and won’ts, and I’ll do a scale-of-one-to-five response. Maybe you can throw something together before the meeting you’re officially late for.’

  ‘Very well.’ There was disappointment in his voice. ‘By the way, when I said third parties, I wasn’t just talking about during sex. When I’m having a love affair, even a casual one, I expect mutual exclusivity. Makes for greater intensity, safer sex and less drama. Are you with me on that?’

  Had I not been supine in the Jacuzzi, I’d be doing the naked happy dance. ‘One hundred per cent.’

  ‘Furthermore, I’m going to need certified paperwork regarding HIV, hepatitis B, HPV and other STD testing and vaccinations. In exchange, I’ll give you mine. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s condoms. Can you imagine how incredible last night would have been if we’d been skin-on-skin?’ He exhaled.

  ‘It was pretty incredible, even with the latex.’

  ‘I want more.’

  ‘Me, too. I’ll call my doctor today.’

  ‘Also, you’re on birth control, right?’

  ‘Look, uhm –’ I debated how much to say ‘– yeah, I’ve got it covered. We can talk more later. When you check out my medical records, you freakshow.’

  ‘Fair enough, Tiger Lily.’

  ‘Don’t call me that.’

  He laughed, and hung up.

  * * *

  It’s not that I’m ashamed to be barren. Fact is, never having to worry about being pregnant makes my life easier. After the abortion, than later on a miscarriage, I decided to just have my tubes tied. My OB/GYN lady couldn’t talk me out of it, hard as she tried. No, I didn’t want an IUD, no, I didn’t want to get that three-year hormone shot. This wasn’t a world into which I wanted to bring a child, and two accidental pregnancies were more than enough. Condoms can break, pills can be forgotten and Nuva rings can end up around your guy’s dick when he pulls out. That happened to me once, and it meant yet another trip to the pharmacy for a morning-after pill. No, thank you. Not ashamed of it, but tubal ligation is not my favourite topic. Especially if I was still trying to impress someone. What if Dorian thinks it makes me unwomanly?

  Then he’s not worth your time, Lily.

  I’d take my chances. Something told me that Dorian had plenty of skeletons in his closet, and, if I continued to be honest and open, he’d rise to the occasion. It wasn’t as though he was looking to start a family any time soon.

  Just relax and enjoy your bath.

  I turned the jets back on, sank deeper into the water and enjoyed the sensation of being tickled by a hundred wet, wiggling lily petals.

  A nice touch.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Oh! Pretty Woman

  I flung open the door, and tried my darnedest to smile at the vision of loveliness before me. ‘Good afternoon, Beatrice.’

  ‘May I come in?’ She glanced around the room, as though searching for her brother.

  ‘It’s just me, and of course.’ Never invite a vampire into your house. ‘Sorry about the bathrobe.’

  ‘Not at all.’ She set her Fendi handbag down on the bureau and perched on the couch. ‘You’re about to be fitted in a few minutes, so there’s no point in getting dressed, anyway.’

  ‘I should at least put on some skivvies. Can I meet you in the lobby?’

  ‘Up to you, Lily.’ Beatrice Collins shrugged. Now that I knew she was Dorian’s half-sister, their similar mannerisms were difficult to ignore. ‘At least let me help you find something presentable to wear.’

  ‘We’re just going to be bummin’ around town,’ I protested, as she pulled open my closet’s quadruple doors and inspected her purchases.

  ‘Holders do not “bum around”,’ she stated, and selected a polka-dotted Prada. ‘I like the 1940s cut of this one, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m not a Holder.’ Looking at the flirty dress, I added, ‘And yeah, that’s wicked cute.’

  ‘You can say that again. On both counts.’ Before I could ask for shoe advice, she ordered, ‘Go barelegged, wear the Gardneras and carry the Pigalle clutch.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘I can’t believe you haven’t opened them yet.’ She wrinkled her button nose and opened a couple golden-beige Louboutin boxes, both of which were gift-bowed with red satin ribbons. ‘Show some gratitude, Lily.’

  ‘Number one: I never asked for a designer wardrobe, and have half a mind to send the collection back. Number two: the last 24 hours have been such a whirlwind that I haven’t even had a chance to take my contact lenses out.’ I watched her setting a pair of flesh-toned strappy sandals on the bed and a small matching purse. ‘Ooh. Pretty.’

  ‘That was the last Piggy bag in stock, just so you know.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Perhaps I’m not your favourite person, nor you mine, but I took excellent care, Lily.’ Beatrice’s voice was lilting and melodic. ‘Dor was going to hire a personal shopper, and I was horrified. Trust me, you would have looked as though you were borrowing somebody’s mother’s clothing. I’ve never seen a new wardrobe purchased by a PS that did anything for the poor fashion victim.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it. Because –’ my gaze swept over the beautiful garments flooding the closet space ‘– had I actual money to spend, and confidence, and … money to spend, I’d want clothes like these. You obviously know what suits me.’

  ‘So to speak.’ Beatrice made a cute face at herself in the mirror. ‘After Madame Gorelle takes your measurements and has you fitted, you’ll be amazed. Tailored clothing is a must, particularly with a build like yours.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I was taken aback. ‘You could use a few tucks yourself, sister.’

  ‘Don’t be defensive, and I could not use any tucks. Sorry, have you seen me?’ She was unfazed. What a she-Dorian. ‘You have one of those size-six-through-ten bodies, so Madame Gorelle will more or less be inventing a size that covers a wide range. You have that J-Lo butt and sturdy legs.’

  Size five through ten, but who’s counting
. ‘Basically you’re calling me fat.’

  ‘Not at all. Curvy. Voluptuous. Huge tits, smallish high-riding waist. That’s what’s tougher to work with. Finding shirts that fit your bust won’t show off your middle, whereas a top that fits your waist squashes your boobs into something unrecognisable and causes gapping.’

  ‘What?’ I hunched over and pulled my luxurious robe tighter. ‘How do you know so much about this stuff?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve had an eating disorder since I was around six. That’s when Dear Mother put me on my first diet.’ She pointed to her head and twirled her finger, indicating the former Mrs Holder’s level of crazy. ‘While I manage well, I still obsess about bodies, shapes and sizes. Mine and everyone else’s.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Beatrice.’

  ‘Spare me.’ She looked back at my chest. ‘Women pay good money for tits like those, Lily, and you need to work them.’

  ‘Are we still talking about my boobs?’

  ‘I can’t even believe they’re real.’ She clapped a hand over my left one. While bold, it was not sexual in any way, shape or form. ‘Truly fantastic.’

  ‘Thank you?’ It came out as a question. ‘You can let go now.’

  ‘Not easy to fit, but, in the right hands, to die for.’ She poked the other one. ‘You have obviously never been in the right hands.’

  ‘Uhm.’ That sounded far too much like something her brother would have said. ‘Are you a lesbian?’

  ‘In your dreams.’ She tugged at my hair. ‘Today, we do something about this. Let me guess where you got your last trim: Supercuts.’

  ‘No, actually, Gwen did it for me. I haven’t gone to a salon in a couple years. My hair’s too out of control for anything besides a braid, tight ponytail or a messy up-do like I wore last night. If I feel sassy, it’s always a playful up-do.’ Frustrated, I wove my fingers in the mess. ‘See, I can’t even get my hands through, even with, like, half a bottle of conditioner.’

  ‘Don’t ever say “up-do” again. Also, nonsense. We’ll fix. Also, just for me, can you try to go without saying “like” until we’re done with our errands?’