by Fiona Wilde
Ron stepped inside and put his dripping umbrella beside hers.
“You can put your coat here,” she said, indicating the rack where she was now hanging her own wet things to dry. Ron took his coat off and hung it up and when he saw her reaching for his sodden umbrella moved to take it from her.
“No, I’ll..” he began.
“It’s fine,” she said, moving it out of reach without looking at him. He didn’t argue.
There was another moment of silence as she absentmindedly smoothed the coats.
“I suppose we could talk in the living room,” she said. “And I suppose I should offer you a drink although it doesn’t feel quite like the appropriate thing to do.”
“You don’t have to offer me anything,” he said. “And if anyone should be feeling awkward about doing inappropriate things, it’s me.”
She nodded and turned, leading him through the hallway and into the living room where she motioned to the couch before disappearing into the kitchen. Ron sat down, looking around at the tidy room with its floor to ceiling windows. Outside, rain was sluicing down them, obscuring what he surmised must be a rather pleasant view of the upscale shops and cafes across the street.
When Lindsay came back in she was carrying a tray with a small pot of coffee and two cups. A towel was draped across her arm, and after she set the tray down she handed it to him without looking up.
“Here,” she said. “Your clothes are wet. You’ll get chilled if you don’t dry off a bit.”
Her kindness made him feel even worse. Murmuring a ‘thank you,’ he took the towel and began to mop the dampness from his clothes.
Lindsay poured two cups of coffee and took one from the tray and then sat down in the couch across from Ron Sharp. She was looking at him now, studying him with an expression that made him feel more convicted by the moment.
He reached for a cup of coffee, because he felt he should to acknowledge her hospitality, but couldn’t bring it to his lips. He had no taste for coffee at the moment. Besides, the unspoken words left no room in his mouth for anything else. He put the cup down.
“There’s no good explanation for what I did to you in the elevator,” he said. “I’m not the kind of man to…” His voice trailed off when he recognized the beginning of his own lie. He was that kind of man, and to start the conversation by covering his own butt with a lie – especially after spanking hers – seemed less than chivalrous. “You were exactly right,” he finished. “You didn’t do anything to deserve what I did to you, Lindsay.”
She’d been looking down at her cup, but now she turned her eyes up to him and when she did his heart twisted to see they were filled with tears.
“Then why did you?” she asked. “I worked hard to prepare for that debate with you. We both went in there knowing it might turn confrontational. I didn’t do anything that you wouldn’t – haven’t – done.”
He nodded. “No, you didn’t.”
“I never asked for this,” she continued. A tear had dropped from her eye now and was sliding down her cheek. She made no move to wipe it away, nor did she move to wipe away the one that now spilled from her other eye.
“I was just a volunteer – a volunteer and a librarian – when Clara Faircloth came to me and offered me this job. I had to adapt overnight to being a nobody with a quiet but satisfying life to being a planner, a manager, a….warrior.” She finally wiped the tears as she offered a short laugh over the irony of it all. “I don’t even like confrontation. I don’t like fighting with people, but when I do fight I stand up for what I believe in. I believe in Clara, just as I’m sure you believe in your candidate.”
“And it shows,” Ron said, edging forward on the couch and looking at her earnestly. “It shows, Lindsay. You’re very good at what you do and your conviction and passion come through. It’s given you an edge.” He looked down. “An edge I’m used to having. I’m not used to playing catch-up, to getting trounced in front of a political audience. I’m used to dominating…”
“Dominating everyone or just women?” Lindsay asked the voice quietly, and for some reason voicing the question made her heart pound. She couldn’t have realized that the question was just as unnerving to him.
“Yes. To both,” he said. “I’m a dominant guy. It’s in my nature. And as politically incorrect as it is I am not used to pushback from women. I’m a conservative and most conservative women tend to be more traditional. They aren’t interested in going toe to toe with a man. I mean, there are exceptions, but for the most part there’s stereotyping between the genders. I can usually tell inside of five minutes whether a woman is a scrapper or whether she’s soft. I avoid the ones who are spoiling for a fight.”
Lindsay’s hand flew to her face and she began to sob.
“Hey, hey, hey…” Ron reached over gently and took her wrists, wondering what he’d said to upset her so. “What’s wrong?”
“What about me told you that it was OK to do that?” she asked. “Did I send you some kind of signal, Ron? What about me told you that the fight in me wasn’t real, that it could be punished out of me?” She pulled away, burying her face in the couch. Ron got up and went over to sit beside her on the couch. He laid a hand on her shoulder but when he did she tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her and gently tugged her around to face him.
“Did I send you some signal, some vibe that said I was asking for it?” She put her face in her hands again. “Oh, god, I am so ashamed.”
He sighed. It was just as he expected and he suddenly felt a surge of emotion for this woman, an intense desire to protect her.
“Don’t be,” he said. “Don’t be ashamed of who you are. You’re right. I probably wouldn’t have done that to any woman. But something came over me with you. I won’t lie to you. I did sense something.”
“Oh, god.” She began to cry harder.
“No, no, no,” he said. “I don’t mean that to sound negative, Lindsay. Don’t take it like that, please. It wasn’t weakness I sensed. It wasn’t masochism. It was…I just sensed that you were like me.”
She was so surprised that she stopped crying. “Like you? How?”
“Different,” he said. “Primal, for lack of a better word. I think there are women out there who have a tendency to yield to male influence out of societal expectations. And then there are women who are hard-wired to that.”
“Are you saying I’m a…”
“Submissive? Yes.”
Her hands had begun to shake again. How could he do this to her? How could he just say this to her outright, as if he were making an observation about her eye color.
“I’m not…”
“Would it be so bad to admit you are?” He smiled at her and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. “I’m a dominant.”
She took the handkerchief and blew into it but did not look at him. “It’s easier for a man to admit he’s a dominant than it is for a woman to admit she’s submissive. We live in a politically correct world, remember? Women are supposed to be way past that. Especially women in high profile positions.”
“Not everyone gets past their nature,” Ron said, relieved that she had not launched into a denial. “I don’t think most people really do, actually. They just live contrary to it. For years I did. When I finally admitted what I was – a dominant man – I realized that ironically that women who could complement me were virtually nonexistent in society.”
Lindsay shook her head, puzzled. “But you said you could tell if a woman is submissive, and that conservative women were moreso.”
“They’re more submissive than the feminist types, but even they draw the line at putting total trust in a man – in letting him guide and correct her,” Ron said.
“Is that what you want? To find someone you can correct?” Lindsay felt her face flush as she asked the question.
“Yes,” he said. “If she’d have me.”
She’d never thought she’d meet a man like this. How like her luck that it would be the one man sh
e’d been at national odds with. For Ron’s part, he’d begun to relax. He wasn’t sure why he was able to tell Lindsay all this. He just somehow knew he could.
“But what about your wife?” Lindsay asked. “Was she..?”
“..submissive?” Ron finished for her. “It’s not a bad word. You shouldn’t be so hesitant to say it.
“Submissive,” she said.
“She was,” Ron said. “In the start. But she grew to hate being that way, to feel guilty about it. When she was a homemaker it was easy for her, but once she got out in the working world it didn’t take long before she adopted a whole new image of herself that was contrary to who she was. It destroyed our marriage and handed me a life I never wanted. I have a little son – Brian – but because of what happened I’m only in his life every other weekend, on Wednesday nights, holidays…two weeks in the summer…” His voice trailed off.
Lindsay shook her head. “Nothing is ever really that simple,” she said softly. “When marriages end there is usually fault on both sides. Is it rude of me to detect something in you that refuses to acknowledge when you’re wrong?”
He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “It’s true. I can be that way.”
Now Lindsay’s hand went to his shoulder, gently.
“You’ve been very honest with me,” she said. “I think I can be honest with you. The kind of woman you describe..I’m that kind of woman. I’ve never thought of myself as submissive, but I guess that’s what I am. I guess that’s why when you - you spanked me my first reaction wasn’t anger but hurt that it was unjust. In spite of my accomplishments I’ve always wanted a man who could take charge, who would lead and guide me. And yes, maybe even correct me. But I have to say that the one fear I had was the first impression you gave me. I could never trust a man who always thought he was right. A strong man admits he was wrong. What you did put me off because you were wrong. I’m thinking maybe that attitude might have alienated your wife?”
She hazarded the notion tentatively, gently and then held her breath, expecting him to explode. But he didn’t. Instead he nodded his head sadly.
“You’re right,” he said. “I know in retrospect that my attitude had a lot to do with it. I wasn’t home much and when I was I felt compelled to show that I was always in control, always right. I was the Enforcer and at times I could be unreasonable. For years I’ve told myself I wasn’t really all that bad, but when I look back…”
He looked at her. “But I can change. I have been trying. That’s why I showed up here, Lindsay. I was wrong. Do you hear me? I was wrong. And I want to tell you I’m sorry. To beg your forgiveness.”
She was about to tell him she’d forgive him, but he didn’t give her a chance.
“You’re beautiful and intelligent and savvy,” he said. “And you’re inspirational because you’ve been completely honest with me about who you are. And I…”
The kiss took them both by surprise, but neither pulled away once it started. His arms went around her, and hers around him, easily and naturally. Lindsay felt her head tilt back under the pressure of his kiss, felt her mouth fall open to receive his tongue. As the kiss deepened, his hand went to her hair and winded itself through her locks.
The kiss seemed to go on forever and afterwards they just sat there, looking into one another’s eyes.
“What just happened?” Lindsay asked.
“I think two complementary people have just found each other under the most unlikely circumstances,” he replied.
***
It was still raining when he left two hours later. As she watched him walk down the sidewalk he peeked up at her window from under his umbrella and smiled, making her heart flutter.
But in his absence, Lindsay was forced to look at the reality of the situation. They’d agreed to see each other. It was crazy, they both knew, but the connection she and Ron shared could not be denied. No one she’d ever kissed had made her feel the way he did, and he’d admitted that she’d had he same effect. Lindsay felt dwarfed by him, not so much due to their differences in height, but by his presence. She perceived in him a Shining Knight to her Lovely Maiden, a Tarzan to her Jane. Ron Sharp was everything society told her a successful woman should not want, but she knew as she watched him disappear down the sidewalk that his absence would leave her with a longing to see him again.
As he rounded the corner, Ron was experiencing the same feelings and he had to force himself to keep walking, force himself to keep from turning and running back to her apartment. The taste of her soft mouth was still on his, the smell of her hair still clung to his shoulder. Her sweetness, her yielding…was a genuine act. Lindsay Martin was not some woman playing the submissive in hopes some man would sweep her off her feet and take care of her. Lindsay Martin was the real deal.
But one big thing stood between them – one very big thing: the campaign. In the heady glow of finding one another, neither had mentioned the one obvious thing they should have talked about. Neither wanted to break the spell by examining the problems posed by two warring campaign managers entering a romantic relationship. It would be a scandal, and likely one that would destroy both their careers.
For Lindsay’s part, she’d never considered herself a good liar and was already wondering how she and Ron could be discreet enough to keep their relationship from becoming public. She’d already been featured in articles in various magazines eager to tout her as the Promising Unknown that took the political world by storm. But fortunately she wasn’t the object of the paparazzi. A few articles with an intellectually curious bent were all she’d warranted.
The media buzz on Ron was similar, although it usually focused on his cutthroat, take-no-prisoners reputation. One headline she remembered had blared “Win Any Cost.” It had been plastered atop a picture of him sitting on the side of his desk. His arms were crossed in the photo, his expression intense and challenging.
“Win at Any Cost.” Lindsay felt a chill. What if that was what he was doing? What if this had all been a set up to get her to let her guard down. But would he do that? He seemed so sincere, and what she’d felt was real. She couldn’t, wouldn’t entertain the idea that this was all part of the game. Not now, anyway.
***
“Feeling better?” Clara Fairmont walked across the room, a smile on her face. She was dressed in an ivory pantsuit with a black blouse underneath. A string of pearls ringed her neck and her white hair was pulled back in a bun.
“Much,” said Lindsay, and gave her boss a quick peck on the cheek. “And you look just beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Clara said. “It’s a wonder I’m even functional today. I was worried sick about you, Lindsay. I called several times and came quite close to sending someone over to check on you.”
Lindsay swallowed hard, realizing how close she had come to being discovered with Ron.
“No need to do that,” Lindsay said. “Believe me, if I’d gotten worse I would have hot-footed it to the doctor. As it was, I just had a bit of a bug.” She looked down as she made the statement. It was the first time she’d ever lied to Clara, and it didn’t feel good at all.
“Well I’m glad you’re here,” Clara said. “The Tri-City Women’s Forum debate is today.”
“Today?” Lindsay’s mind screamed the word, and she felt a flood of shock wash over her. Somehow she’d lost a day. The debate wasn’t supposed to be until Tuesday, or so she’d thought. Fortunately, she’d already done the advance work on the issues and had the packet in her briefcase. But still she felt like she was letting Clara down.
“10:15, right?” she asked.
“If you say so,” Clara said almost dismissively, reminding Lindsay again that the older woman expected her to know everything. Lindsay quickly popped open her case and thumbed through the file. Yes, they were to be at the studio at 10:15 for the debate which began at eleven sharp.
“This should be a good one,” said Clara, checking her hair in the mirror. “Hopkins will probably ask the moderator to fetch him co
ffee.”
Lindsay had a sudden flashback of the night before, of her delivering coffee to Ron Sharp. Her face reddened.
“Are you alright?” Clara was looking at her with a curious expression.
“I’m fine,” said Lindsay, forcing a smile. “I’m just fine. Now let’s get ready for that debate.”
Chapter Five
The lights of the Fifth Street studio were bright and hot, just as Lindsay had remembered.
“Now I’m glad I wore white linen,” Clara said out of the side of her mouth. “I’d have burned up in something darker.” It was just moments before the debate and the two of them were standing at the podium, going over a few last minute talking points.
They turned when they heard voices to see Ron Sharp and Bradford Hopkins walk up to his podium. Hopkins wore his traditional dark suit complete with flag lapel pin. Lindsay turned away and smirked. Poor wardrobe choice, given the temperature in front of the lights.
She concentrated on reclaiming her edge, and separating the feelings he was experiencing for Ron Sharp with the job she’d been hired to do as rival campaign manager.
“Ms. Faircloth.” Hopkins had walked over now and was extending his hand to Clara, one smiling towards the cameras as he did so.
“They aren’t on yet,” Lindsay said, and the conservative politician looked at her with a frown.
“I know that,” he said irritably, but there was an edge of embarrassment to his voice that everyone detected.
Ron Sharp looked at Lindsay, obviously surprised that she’d directed such a snide comment to his candidate. Lindsay glanced back, briefly, as she took in his puzzled expression.
“Good,” she thought. “Let him know that no matter what happens between us I’m still going to do my job.”
“We start in five, people. Everyone but the candidates needs to be off the stage.” The faceless voice came from the control booth, and Lindsay squeezed Clara’s hand for luck before turning away.
