“You want some help?”
“Don’t get mixed up in this.”
“Wasn’t thinking about me,” Carlyle replied. “Just think about it.”
He fished two cigars out of his pocket and passed one to Mickey. They shared the love of good smokes. Both men bit the heel off and spit them out through the side curtains, Phillip to port, Mickey to starboard. They lit up and sat back again, and didn’t talk about fishing, and Phillip’s house at Marathon Key, and maybe a job for Phillip on a construction job coming up.
The boat was tied up at the Turtle Kraal in Key West just after six. Next to it was a slightly larger boat called Spinnaker’s Gold that Phillip seemed to know about, and ahead was a handsome, old fashioned wooden boat called the Gulf Streamer that he owned and wanted to show Mickey. They went over for beers and ate fried everything, and then Mickey went back to Oliver’s boat for the night while everyone else went to the Pier House.
Sandy called at nine, kind of breathlessly excited. “I did something kind of weird today,” she said. “Want me to tell you?”
“Sure,” Mickey said, half afraid it would be something about Davidson.
“I walked on the treadmill, and then I cut the grass.”
“Weirdly?”
She laughed nervously. “It was so silly, but I put Cindy down and read her a story and then I went back to work in the lab, but all I could think about was you.”
“Take a breath, Sandy.”
Her laughter came again, softly this time. “I...well...the sun was going down, but it was still kind of light out, you know how it is. I was on the patio, feeling sort of...you know, lonely. And I started...um...playing with myself a little bit.”
Mickey felt the relief wash through him like a cool drink. “Like to have seen that,” he said.
“It was weird, honey. I did some things I’ve never done before.”
“What things?”
“Christ, this is embarrassing.” She laughed self-consciously again, almost giggling. “You remember how you tied my boobs the other day?”
“With the cord?”
“I did that to myself. Not as tight as you, but pretty tight. And I used some of that orange rope from the garage and made one of those crotch rope things. You know, where you tie me around the waist and pull the rope up between my legs?”
“I remember,” he said. “It sounds real pretty, hon, but what was it about the grass you were going to tell me?”
“It needed cutting,” she said. “But wait a minute, I’m getting to that. First I tied myself up like I told you, and then I got some clothespins, too.”
“And?” He was getting warm, thinking about it.
“I put one on each nipple, Mick. And then I clipped some more between my legs like you did yesterday. Damn, but it hurt.”
“You nasty girl, you.”
“And then I cut the grass,” she said.
“With the clothespins on?”
“And the rope. I put on my house dress, because I was afraid to be naked out there without you, and I had to walk bowlegged because those things hurt like the dickens, but I did it, and I cut the whole yard like that without stopping, all by myself.”
“You’re a wonder,” he said. “Now you’re really making me wish I’d been there. Maybe with the paddle, because of the dress.”
“We don’t have a paddle,” she said, almost laughing. “But there’s always that spoon, right?”
“I still owe you nine, plus one more, now,” he said. “So tell me the rest. I’m getting horny, hearing about this.”
“That’s why I called,” she said in a voice gone low and whispery. “I’m finished with the yard, and I’m back on the porch, but I’ve still got the clothes pins on. I thought you might like to hear me take them off. They’re really hurting now. I mean really hurting, if you know what I mean. “
“You squeal some when they come off,” he said.
“And I’m nearly...you know...nearly ready to...”
“Cum?”
“Yes,” she said, like she was ashamed of it.
So he listened while she yipped and sighed, taking those pins off and talking to him in little catchy breaths. She rubbed the spots where they had been, telling him how much it hurt and how good it felt, and then unwinding the cords from her breasts, and masturbating afterwards until she came with a grunting little sigh of release.
“There,” she said, finally. “Could you hear me?”
“How am I supposed to ride the bus home tomorrow with a hard-on?”
She laughed softly and said she loved him and to hurry home. They hung up, and Mickey went to clean the starboard engine room on Judge Oliver’s boat. Nobody had asked him to, but the leak happened on his watch, and he felt like he ought to do it. The big green engine was still pretty hot, but not so you couldn’t touch it. He worked for almost four hours to clean it, and the spatter on the walls, and the dirty tub ring on the floor. Damned mess is what it was.
Chapter Eighteen
At something after eleven, Mickey heard sounds on the boat and went out to investigate, carrying a big wad of oily rags with him. Phillip Carlyle was in the fish well with a second man who was probably not much older than Mickey. He had shaggy dark hair, good shoulders and watchful green eyes.
“Want you to meet a friend of mine,” Phillip said. “This is John Willis, who specializes in taking care of problems, among other things.”
“More of a hobby, really,” Willis said with a self-deprecating smile. “Phillip here tells me you’ve got something right up my alley.”
“It’s not up any alley I ever heard of,” Mickey said cautiously.
“Maybe not,” John Willis said, “but I’ve got some resources you might not have, Mickey. You want to talk about it a little bit?”
Mickey made a face. “I’ve talked about it more than I should already,” he said. “It’s the kind of thing that’ll put me in deep shit, if I’m not careful.”
“You are being careful,” Willis said, nodding to Carlyle. “Phillip won’t tell me a thing except it’s something I might be able to help with. And I’m not saying anything to anybody because it’s all hearsay evidence, right?”
“Why would you do that?”
Willis grinned. “Like I said, assholes are kind of a hobby with me. Every once in awhile the opportunity comes up to take care of one, and when it does...” He shrugged with his palms out and turned up, like he couldn’t help whatever came next.
“Well...” Mickey said. “Maybe we better sit down and talk then. Damned if I know what else to do.”
“Got a beer on this tub?”
Willis sat in one of the fighting chairs. Mickey got three beers and brought them out and sat on the fantail to talk. Phillip finished his beer and said he’d be on his way. Mickey watched him go, and the two women that worked for him got up from a bench. Mickey hadn’t even seen them.
In the dock lights, he saw very clearly that each woman had a chain hanging from their nose rings. They handed the tag ends to Phillip, who led them away like a pair of beautiful dogs.
“Interesting threesome, that,” Willis said.
“I like the nose rings,” Mickey conceded. “Don’t know how my wife would like being led around by one, though.”
“Only one way to find out,” Willis said with a laugh.
Mickey sat down again and found that he wanted to talk, to unload the pile of shit he had on his shoulders. He meant to be careful, to try to not lay a bunch of stuff on Sandy, but it didn’t work out that way. Willis was a good listener and they talked for three hours. Mickey told him everything, like it was a confessional. When Willis left, Mickey laid down on the couch in the salon and slept for six hours without moving.
The next morning at seven, he was on a Greyhound headed north. The ride home took almost as long as the boat trip. They made three station shops on the way up through the Keys, and then there seemed to be a Greyhound sign about every fifteen or twenty miles from Florida City all the w
ay to Mickey’s stop.
They did get there by supper time, as promised, but after a day on the water at full charge and another day on the road, Mickey was feeling like he might need a bed next to Linus Davidson and maybe a dose of something with codeine in it.
Cindy hugged him like she hadn’t seen him in a year and he picked her up for a kiss and hugged Sandy with the other arm. Sandy was stunning in the black dress with the red roses around the hemline and flat sandals. Mickey thought she looked like a million dollars, and she seemed very pleased.
Mickey had four hundred dollars in his pocket from Judge Oliver, which was what was owed plus a tip and an extra hundred for the engine room clean-up. The judge had promised to call when he got ready to take the boat home maybe in August, and said Mickey could bring his wife for that one if he wanted. More importantly, Mickey had an ally. Willis had promised to look into things, and Mickey wanted to believe that. He wanted it a lot.
He got Cindy into her car seat and they went to eat fast food, or at least Mickey and Cindy did. Sandy had a salad, and said she was never going to fit into a corset if she didn’t. She gave Mickey a warm, secretive little smile when she said that, and the heat between them seemed to rise a little bit.
While Cindy was on the restaurant playground, Mickey pretended to drop his keys and bent down to get them while Sandy spread her knees a little to let him look up her skirt. Her face was happy and flush, although she fussed at him just a little, pretending it hadn’t excited her to be around so many people exposing herself like that, even though no one saw but Mickey.
“I didn’t see any new bruises,” he said, teasing her.
“I’m sitting on them.”
Mickey laughed.
“It’s not funny,” she said with a prim look that turned rueful and then dissolved into girlish giggles. She reached across the table to squeeze his arm and said, “Can you believe I did that, Mick. I mean, it’s just not me, is it?”
“Maybe it is,” he said, turning his arm over and taking her hand. “It’s kind of a surprise, San, but you seem to...”
“Oh God, don’t say it, honey. Please don’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’ll be mortified. I’m thinking things...crazy things like when I was a kid...and it just scares the pants off me.”
“You’re not wearing pants,” he reminded her. “And you’re no kid anymore.”
“Don’t remind me.” She took a breath and huffed it out, looking down at her hands. “I do it for you,” she said in a low voice. “I think maybe I’d do anything you asked. That’s what really drives me crazy.”
“Nothing wrong with being a little crazy,” he said. “And I don’t remember asking you to mow the lawn with clothespins on your pussy.”
Sandy blushed and ducked her head a little. To cover, she drank from the straw through the perforated plastic cap of her soda cup. Then finally she looked at him again, and said, “Why are we doing this, Mick? I mean, why now?”
“Because it’s time, maybe,” he said gently.
“No it isn’t,” she said. “Or maybe it is, but that isn’t my question. You and I have been together since before we even understood why were so nuts over each other. What, twelve years, right? Something like that. And Mickey, you’ve never, ever been like this.” She waved that away with both hands. “Okay, that’s not true. You’ve been really strong and manly with me in the past, but not...”
“Strong and manly?” He smiled at that.
She blew out her breath again in exasperation. “Don’t dance me around, honey. You know what I mean. These past couple of weeks you’ve been different. Like you came into focus all of a sudden. You’ve been kind of gentle about it, except in bed, but there hasn’t been any doubt in my mind about what you want since...”
“I’m just trying to be a... “Better man, I know.” She sighed. “It’s okay, what you’re doing. More than okay. But you read me like a damned book, and it’s scary sometimes, because you seem to know what I’m thinking before I even think it. And I’m curious, I really am. You can’t blame me for that.”
“Let it ride,” he said.
“We have to talk, Mickey.”
“And we will. Just not right now.”
They went home and did the things that had to be done. When the baby was asleep, Sandy took off her dress and put her hair in a pony tail. Mickey had a look at her nipples and her pussy lips, and kissed all three places pretty thoroughly.
“I’ll never get to the treadmill at this rate,” she said wryly.
He went to shower and change and let her go to the garage. When he got out there, she was sheeted with sweat and had the cadence meter up to a flat four miles per hour. She was huffing steadily, but seemed confident.
“You aren’t really going to whack me ten times with that spoon, are you?” she said, swabbing her breasts and face with her towel.
“The count is rising,” he said. “Want to wait until it’s twenty or thirty?”
“Jeez, no,” she said.
Mickey hadn’t been thinking about the spoon, but he started to. When Sandy finished with her half hour, he toweled her down and got her a drink of water. They sat shoulder to shoulder on the platform of the treadmill. Sandy pulled her long pony tail around and frowned at it.
“Should I change my hair color, Mick?”
“Not on my account,” he said. “But sure, if you want to.”
“I...” She seemed to catch herself and took another drink of water. After a minute, she turned on the deck and looked at him. “I was going to say I would do it for you,” she said. “It’s true, of course, but there’s a little more to it than that.”
“You always liked being a blonde.”
“I like being your blonde,” she said quietly. “It’s complicated.”
“Meaning?”
“It’s like when you told me not to wear underwear.”
“Getting your hair done?” He sounded uncertain, even to himself.
“It’s not the hair, or you banging me in the men’s room, or even sitting naked out here in the garage while you’re dressed. It isn’t even about you wanting things from me. It’s about...” Her voice trailed off and she looked frustrated.
Mickey waited, biting his tongue to keep from jumping in.
Sandy hugged herself. “It’s me,” she said, like maybe it hurt her to say it. “Maybe this won’t make sense to you, but what I really like is making up my own mind to do...” She shrugged and flipped her hands helplessly. “Well, doing whatever. I need you there to ask, of course, and I need to know that I can always say no.”
“Of course you can,” he said. “And don’t go changing your hair or shaving your pussy or something. All right? I love you just like you are.”
“You’re sweet,” she said, and dimpled briefly. “But let me tell you this before I chicken out again.” She took a breath and said, “When I was a little girl just discovering things about myself, I used to have this kind of fantasy world where I was safe and somebody took care of me. It was a dreamy kind of kid thing and then, when I got older, it was...um...more...physical. Do you know what I mean?”
“It turned you on?”
“In a childish way, at first, but eventually there was more to it. But then I met you and we were so in love and I thought you were my prince to keep me safe.”
“And I haven’t done a very good job, have I?” Mickey said sadly.
“Sometimes,” she said and knelt in front of him to take his hands. “We had wonderful times, Mickey. Everything I ever dreamed of. But...”
“There’s always that ‘but’ thing.”
“It’s okay,” she said earnestly. “I love you, and I have always loved you. It hasn’t been perfect, but...”
“You did it again.” He smiled a little, and she did, too.
“Okay, no more buts,” Sandy said. “Here’s what I’ve decided to tell you. It’s a big deal for me, even though it will sound stupid.” She put one hand over his mouth to keep h
im from protesting, and said, “Let me finish. You surprised me at first, but these past couple of weeks have been too good for words. You need to know that I may not like doing everything you want me to, but I love, and I mean love, doing them for you.”
Mickey kissed her and they held each other for awhile. Eventually, he took her to the bathroom and put her in the shower and then got in with her to wash her back, and whatever else came to hand. They made love under the hot water, and dried each other off with great care and went to bed.
“Thank you,” he whispered as they settled in to sleep.
“I wanted you to know,” she said, almost as softly. “I want you to know everything, Mickey. Everything.”
“Careful what you wish for,” he said.
“Mm?” She was settling her bare backside into his lap. “What do you mean?”
Mickey decided not to answer. Two long days and the lovemaking had taken his reserves right down to nothing. What he had to say was going to need a clear head and without doubt a strong heart. He kissed the damp back of Sandy’s neck and cupped her breasts in his hands and fell almost instantly to sleep.
Chapter Nineteen
“Do you know what a self-defeating personality disorder is?” Sandy asked at the breakfast table. She wore her robe, because Cindy was up.
“Um...overeating?” Mickey was watching the baby pack her cereal down.
“I had a counselor in high school who said that about me. SDPD. I’ll never forget that as long as I live.”
“What is it?”
“A form of masochism, according to Freud.”
“Ah, well,” he said. “Now you’ve caught my interest.”
“Not that kind of masochism,” she said with mock severity. “It’s the one where a person is sort of proudly self-sacrificing; always giving like it was the most important thing in the world. Apparently, it’s the only kind of control she thinks she has, so she goes about her life making herself essential by being the best little slave in the building. Making herself essential to others, I mean.”
“And that’s you?”
“No, that’s what he said about me.” She put a bowl of oatmeal with two scrambled eggs on top in front of him and sighed. “Well, maybe it is me a little bit.”
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