by CD Reiss
“What can I do to help?”
“Nothing. It’s between us. Just… thank you. Thank you for taking care of things around here while we went away.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You can stop coming in if you want.”
“Nah. I can come in.”
“Dad, I don’t want you to tire yourself out. You retired for a reason.”
He shrugged, tapped the tabletop with his fingertip, wheezed a little. “Maybe I’ll stick around the rest of the week. You need me until you get your feet under you.”
Another man protecting me. I was grateful and resentful at the same time.
Chapter 4
I watched my phone for Adam’s movements, obsessing like a tenth grader with a crush on the captain of the football team. I shooed away a constant, humming anxiety that manifested as a twisted stomach. My insides felt like a wet washcloth that had been twisted tight and left in the sun.
He wanted me. His body wanted me and his heart called for me, but his mind had decided to cut me loose. Without him coming to the office, I wasn’t sure how to get in front of him so his mind could get out of the way.
Kayti had her bag slung on her shoulder when she poked her head into my office. “Zack’s on his way up.”
“Leave the door open. Have a good night.”
She left me alone. The tracker found his phone in the Meatpacking District.
He was at the Cellar.
My first emotion was anger, then a sense of urgency, then despair, then all the bad things I could think and feel ran together like a ten-car pileup on the FDR. Anger/lust/panic/jealousy/desolation—boom boom boom.
“Hey, there.” Zack tipped his head into my office before sliding his whole body in.
I couldn’t talk to another human being. All I could do was look at that green dot on a map. I flipped the phone glass-side down.
“Come in.”
We gave each other the double-euro kiss. His blond scruff scratched my cheek.
“It’s good to see you.” It wasn’t good or bad, but it was terribly inconvenient, because I wanted to go to the Cellar and curl my body at Adam’s feet so no one else could.
Zack and I sat on the couch. He was as handsome and rugged as always, but he looked tired and drawn out, as if he too had been wrung out and left in the sun to dry.
“I’m sorry to hear about your mother,” I said.
“It happened so fast. I was there four hours, and boom. It was like she just needed to see me before she died.”
“I’m glad you went then.”
“Me too. But with the funeral done and my sister in charge of the arrangements, I had to come back. I was going crazy in Dayton. Nice people. Wonderful people, actually. If I could take everybody there and move them to New York, it would be heaven.”
I smiled. The fast-paced intensity of the city attracted the most driven people in the world. They weren’t always easy to live with. “I can imagine.”
I was filling space. I wanted to go to the Cellar or, at the very least, look at my phone again to see if he’d run to some sub’s apartment for a fuck.
Zack must have read my mind.
“I heard about you and Adam.”
Of course he had. My big blabbing mouth meant I was going to have to say we were getting divorced, or not.
“It’s in process.”
“Figured as much when you needed to use my apartment but you wouldn’t say why.”
I’d seen his empty apartment as an opportunity and used it to bulldoze away my fear. I saw it as a sign that I needed to stop delaying the inevitable.
Zack moved on the couch until he faced me completely, draping his hand on the back. “You were miserable. You played the part though.” His finger touched my shoulder, stroking it through my blouse. “Played it really well.”
I shifted to face him, which showed I was paying attention and got my shoulder away from his finger at the same time. “I wasn’t playing. I was trying to hold it together.”
“I know. But I could tell. You didn’t look at him unless you were talking about work. He had you trapped, didn’t he?”
He did, but not enough, obviously. Not enough for me to see why I should be.
Zack’s voice was deep and husky with warm admiration. “You were very brave to let him go.”
That was the exact story I’d told myself before I left the note. “I was a coward. I told you more about how I felt by asking to move in than I told him.”
“He’s not the easiest guy in the world to talk to.”
Zack made eyes at me. Eyes meaning if I wanted to fuck on the couch, I could fuck on the couch. And I did want to fuck on the couch, but I didn’t want to fuck him.
I stood and brushed my skirt down. “There’s a freeze on new hires, so I can’t bring you back. But we’re falling behind, and it would be great to have a freelancer we didn’t have to train, if you’re interested.”
He stood in front of me, too close, but the coffee table kept me from stepping back easily. Also, I wasn’t going to back away. It wasn’t my job to be the only one with an ounce of sense. He should take a hint.
“I’m interested. And when you finally take that ring off, I’m interested in that too.”
“I’ll make a note.”
The loft was a block away from work, but I got in a cab as soon as I knew Zack was gone.
“Gansevoort,” I said.
“Got it.” And he was off.
I checked the phone. Adam was still there. I had to see him again. The urgency was a physical thing sitting in my gut as if I’d swallowed it whole. I couldn’t digest it.
Zack’s come-on had pushed me deeper into wanting Adam’s touch. The ease with which he’d propositioned me made my position with the man I really wanted feel even more tenuous. Every hour I let pass was an hour closer to the end of our contract.
The cab dropped me on the corner. I walked quickly to the plain building that was the Cellar. A man in a leather jacket stood in front of the black door.
“Hi,” I said, trying to act as if I belonged there.
“Hello.” His voice was a deep baritone.
“I’d like to go in?”
The door opened behind him, and a couple came out. I recognized Charlie, but not the woman he was with.
“Do you have a member number?” asked the baritone.
Charlie gave me a second look as he led the woman to the curb, then he turned away.
“No, I just—”
“Can’t do it.”
“A minute. Just a minute.”
Was I begging? I didn’t want to beg, but I wanted to see my husband. Maybe I’d beg him. Maybe I’d just get on my knees.
“Sorry, ma’am. It’s members only tonight.”
I turned to Charlie. Did he remember me from our wedding? Did he know where Adam was? Could he get me in? I could beg him too.
But even as I thought he might help, he got in the cab after the woman and closed the door.
“How do you become a member?” I asked the baritone bouncer.
“You need recommendations from three active members,” he answered.
“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you very much.”
I wasn’t stalking Adam, but maybe I was. I walked around the corner, wrapping my coat tightly around me. The neighborhood was packed with people going out after work. Laughing, smiling, noses red in the cold, damp night.
Zack thought I was available, and he was a counterpoint to all the women who saw Adam the same way. They’d flock to him. He wouldn’t be single another hour. And what was he doing in there? Was he going to leave with someone?
Not on my watch. No way. Whatever he was going to do with whomever he was going to do it with, he was going to have to hide it, because I would stab myself repeatedly with whatever he did. Oh yes, my pain cried out to multiply a hundred times over. If he left that club with someone, I would watch it happen and he would know the level of his betrayal.
I was around
the corner when I looked at the phone again. The green dot had moved to the street. I ran, crashing into a lady carrying a little dog, nearly tripping on a garbage pail, navigating patches of ice like a ninja. I ran back around the corner until I could see baritone at the front door and a cab pulling away.
I got my phone out again. It was him.
Don’t text him.
He was in that cab, and I had no way of knowing if he was alone or with a sub who would do whatever he wanted without the baggage, without the love, without a care in the world.
Do. Not. Text.
In the middle of the sidewalk, I watched that cab wait at a light two blocks away, turn north on Tenth Ave., east on 23rd, north on Park Ave., and east again into Murray Hill. Home. He went home alone or otherwise.
—I want to be a member
of the Cellar—
I walked south on Hudson, toward home. I had to work off the energy. My body needed something to do besides panic about the fact that he wasn’t texting me back.
I stared at my phone. No dots either. He’d gotten the message but wasn’t answering.
Because he’s fucking someone else.
Maybe, maybe not. But why would he go to the Cellar unless it was to find someone to fuck? Maybe he’d gone to talk to Charlie. Maybe he’d just wanted to be among his people. Maybe he’d tried to find someone and failed.
I got all the way home and heard nothing.
He had to be too busy with a sub. A woman with no problem doing what she was told. A woman who could offer her ass without delay. A pure, true, trained submissive who succeeded where I failed.
He couldn’t love a sub, but that wouldn’t stop him from fucking them.
I took a deep breath when I hit SoHo and emailed Kayti.
Kayti—
First thing in the morning. Pull up the wedding reception invitation list. Not City Hall. The Lafayette Hotel reception. I need phone numbers and addresses.
He could refuse to touch me, but he couldn’t stop me from pursuing my submissive nature. Even after these two weeks were finished and he drifted even further away, I still had a chance to pursue him. Everything about the idea was crazy, but I didn’t feel sane.
His text came in just before I went to bed.
—You will never be a member
of the Cellar—
It took a ton of effort not to answer his text, because I saw hope inside it. He cared. Even if his dick was wet with another woman, he cared whether or not I was a member.
I didn’t sleep well, but that sentiment gave me a couple hours of rest.
Chapter 5
The journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step.
I learned not to expect anything. Or if not that, I learned that what I expected could be wrong, a fantasy, a fear, a bunch of meaningless tropes slapped on a mundane reality.
The old Garment Center red brick building still had brass-fitted mail chutes in the hallways. I stopped by one and pushed the flap. It had been sealed shut. When exactly had the post office stopped using them? Why? And the old glass mail chutes? When had they stopped working?
You’re stalling.
In the eighties, twenty-three bags of stuck mail had been retrieved from the chute. Years’ worth of unpaid bills and business correspondence. Contracts and notices. Thoughts, feelings, typewritten and scrawled. Stamped and stuffed, and in the mass of fluttering business detritus, a woman received a letter from her dead husband. Yet another got a letter her dead husband sent to his girlfriend years before. The emotions were still there on the paper, even if the muscle holding it was long gone.
Was anything stuck in there now? An old love letter, begging for a reconciliation? The declaration of a long-denied love? What was caught in the seams between the floors? In the digital age, messages were lost in the ether. In the analog, a letter could get sealed in a chute forever.
The door at the end of the hallway opened, and a woman in her forties strode out, holding the knob until the door clicked. She didn’t look at me as she passed, her heels clopping on the marble, but she’d forced me to look outside my distractions at the brass plate on the door.
INTERNATIONAL OBJECTS
I didn’t know if a more bland name existed, especially in contrast to what was actually sold there. A wedding invitation had gone there, and I followed the trail by deduction.
The brass knob was warm where the woman had touched it, and I added my own warmth, turning it and entering.
After the first step, you still have to walk the thousand miles.
The reception area had been completely bland. Almost insultingly empty. The conference room, however, was completely different. Rich with tapestries and soft cushions, dark woods and a window onto neighboring factory rooftops, it invited the truth.
Which was why Charlie met me in here in his dark denim sports jacket and khaki slacks. I wondered what Adam had meant when he said Charlie had his dick shot off.
“I can’t help you,” he said, leaning on his cane. Neither of us was sitting.
“Of course you can. You won’t help me.”
“So we agree. It was very nice to see you again. I’ll have someone show you out.”
Yeah.
Right.
“It means your mind can be changed.”
“Ms. McNeill-B—”
“I can convince you.”
“I am not going to train you.”
“Why not?”
“Are you mad, woman?”
“If you mean angry, no. Not yet. I’m assuming you mean crazy, which yes, I am crazy. Just a little. Adam started to train me and didn’t finish. Now I’m supposed to just find my way around? Half done like a runny egg? I don’t accept that, and if he’s not going to finish, someone has to.”
He regarded me for a long time. His eyes were a dark, cloudy grey. They gave away nothing. “He told me you were vanilla. Not a submissive bone in your body.”
“He missed a bone, obviously.”
“More than that.” He held out his hand. “Sit. Please. You’re making me tired.”
Was he going to sit? Was his order just for me, and why?
“If you can’t even take a simple request, Mrs.—”
“Diana.” I pulled back a leather chair. It rattled on the casters.
When I sat down, he sat across from me. A little pod of office supplies sat on the end of the table. I folded my hands in front of me and leaned forward. I didn’t notice the aggressive posture until I wondered if I should be more submissive. Hands in lap? Eyes down? Knees together or apart?
None of the above. I kept my elbows on the table and my ribs pressed to the edge as if I was going to leap across it. I couldn’t second-guess myself all the time, and I thought being myself was safer than trying to be the kind of submissive I wasn’t.
“What do you expect to get out of training?” Charlie asked as if he’d asked it a hundred times before.
“Is there a right answer?”
He matched my posture. Hands clasped. Elbows on the table. “There are only wrong answers.”
“Wrong answers like ‘better sex’ or ‘a boyfriend’?”
“Those are definitely wrong.”
“Why?”
“They’re not true, for a start.”
“And they’re facile and immature.”
“Yes. And they can be achieved another way. If you want better sex, find a more compatible partner. If you want a boyfriend, there’s always Tinder. So if you want to do this, you do it because there’s no other way to achieve what you’re trying to achieve.”
“Which is?”
“You tell me. What do you want out of sub training?”
“Adam.”
I answered quickly because it was true, and because there was no other way. I was ready to argue my reasons all morning if he’d let me. At the same time, I figured he’d call any answer I gave wrong and dismiss me. Then I’d chase Adam without him or his help. I didn’t know how long the chase would last, but I knew
it couldn’t go on too long before I quit in despair. I was a sprinter, not a long distance runner, so I told myself I had two weeks to do whatever I could.
“I hate to be the one to tell you this.” He leaned back. “Fact is, he should be the one telling you and I should kick you out of here right now without another word. But I’m a nice guy.”
I pressed my lips together so snarky words wouldn’t come out. I practically had to cover my mouth.
“You’re wasting your time,” he said. “The only woman he ever fell for wasn’t a sub.”
“That woman was me.”
“It was.”
“He loves me. I know it. You know it. He’s fighting hard to make the biggest mistake of his life, and you’re going to let him. How are you going to live with yourself when he’s sixty and fucking random submissives he can’t love? Do you want that? Or do you not care?”
“This is none of my business, you know.” He pushed his chair out and put his hand on his cane. “I’m not getting involved.”
I snapped up a pen and pinched a scrap of paper from a pad. “Here’s my number if you change your mind.”
“I’m not going to call you.”
“I’ll see you at the club then.” I stood.
“You have a membership?” He seemed genuinely concerned.
“No. But I need three members to vouch for me. It can’t be that hard.”
“Really?” He took his hand off the cane, lacing his hands across his lap. “How easy is it?”
“Tryout night’s next week. I can convince someone I’m capable of getting on my knees. There are Doms in the paper looking for—”
“Hold on there, sheila.”
“What?”
“You don’t know those blokes, and you have no way of checking them. This is a dangerous business.”
I shrugged.
“You’re going to let some bloke you don’t know, never met, no friends in common… let him tie you up? I’m not even talking about fucking. No good Dominant’s just going to fuck you without clear consent, but there are bad ones out there. Bad, bad men.”
