by Jess Bentley
I feel like I'm laying out treats for a feral animal, just trying to lure her into my presence. Sometimes it's food, sometimes it's the sound of the doorbell or the scraping of a chair. More and more, she's curious about me too. More and more, we have shy conversations where I try not to be too overbearing, and she tries not to be too fucking adorable.
The ham pops dramatically, spraying a little bit of grease into the air. I slide a plate onto the counter, then after a thought, a second plate. One for each of us. Why should I pretend this is just for me? Obviously, it’s for both of us.
With a fork, I pick up the two fat slices and put them on the plates, positioning them so the scorch marks are face up, glistening and delicious. Then I crack a couple of eggs into the bottom and listen to that sizzle.
There it is. That tiny sound.
I look up, careful not to smirk in triumph that I've drawn her to me yet again. She stands at the edge of the room, balancing on her toes, trying to see what's on the plates. Obviously, two plates is an invitation. Also, it’s a bit of a confession. But when she tiptoes to the chair across from me and pulls it out gently, I still feel like I have won some kind of prize.
“Good morning,” she says in a small, polite voice.
I mean to say good morning, but I just kind of grunt instead. That's good. At least I haven't turned into complete mush.
“That looks delicious,” she continues.
“Do you cook?” I ask her without looking up.
She taps her fingertips on the granite, drawing my attention to her pretty fingers.
“I do, but not very much,” she admits. “I'd like to learn. Do you want to teach me?”
That takes me aback, but I try not to react. Instead, I flip the eggs carefully, without breaking the yolks. After they firm up for a few seconds, I slide the eggs onto the plates.
Sometimes she does that, little actions and words that seem to be flirting with me. I'm never sure if she's really flirting with me, though. Maybe it's just her friendly nature. Maybe I'm just hearing what I want to hear.
“I need to… I'm going out of town,” I inform her as I give her a fork and pour some grapefruit juice into a glass.
“Out of town?” she repeats, scraping her knife against the plate.
“Yeah, just a short trip. It's been on the schedule for a long time and I can't get out of it,” I lie. I'm not sure why I am lying, but I'm just not ready to explain my mission yet.
She chews slowly, looking around the room as though this bothers her, but she doesn't want to say it.
“How long will you be gone?”
“Three days. Maybe a little more.”
She nods, tearing through the ham with relish. She's a healthy eater. I like that. Hunger is good.
“Will you be all right?” I ask her. “Alone, I mean?”
She chuckles, almost snorting. “Will I be all right?” she repeats. “I’m sure everything will be fine, Daniel. I think I can handle being on my own for a few days.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, trying to appear serious. I can sense that she's getting a little defensive and now that triggers my urge to tease her. But not too hard, not enough to make her mad. She gets down from the chair, taking her plate to the sink and washing it immediately like a good girl.
“I could find someone to stay with you if you're frightened?”
She stares at me with one hand on her hip, her weight cast to one side, her head tipped slightly toward her shoulder. I almost want to laugh. This is her trying-not-to-be-seen-as-stubborn posture.
“And of course, you can ask Freddie for anything that you need,” I tell her. “Groceries, alarm codes, anything.”
She nods curtly. “I'm sure everything will be fine, Daniel,” she says for the second time. “You'll be gone for three days, right? That's not even enough time for me to starve to death.”
“It isn't?” I ask her. Of course, I know she’ll be fine, but teasing her like this amuses me for some reason. It's fun to watch her navigate between asserting herself and offering me the kind of polite respect she thinks I've earned. Which, in fact, I have earned. Maybe it pleases me because I like to know how much she really does respect me.
“No, it isn't,” she says pointedly. “In fact, if I stopped eating right this moment, I wouldn't even be close to starvation by the time you get home in three days. I promise, really, I'll be absolutely fine.”
I nod slowly, as though I'm really mulling it over. Obviously, I can't cancel this trip, but I'm really enjoying making her think that I might.
Freddie enters the kitchen, nodding once at me and once at Kita. To his credit, his eyes don't linger on her. He never gives the impression that he thinks about her too much, which is good. He even retrieved her belongings without even making any kind of comments about it, though that’s a very personal mission.
Freddie has been with me since I had to kick him out of one of my properties. He was homeless, squatting in the abandoned warehouse for who knows how long. After the Army, he had nowhere to go. But he had motor pool experience and a disciplined attitude. He’s been with me ever since.
After a couple of months, I broke him of the habit of saluting me every time I walked into a room. Still, he’s respectful and part of that respect extends to his distant behavior with Kita. That’s good. The last thing I need is for someone to trigger my natural male jealousies too. I'm having a hard enough time controlling myself around her, and I don't need anything else kicking my testosterone into high gear.
Like, that thing she just did, pushing her hair behind her ear and then trapping her lower lip between her teeth… that's just about enough. That makes me want to go over there and…
“All right, I've got to get going,” I say tensely. “You can contact me at any time. In fact, you know what? While I’m gone, I’d like you to text me, please. Twice a day sounds good.”
Her eyebrows go up but she says nothing. I know I'm being ridiculous, but now that I've said it, I can't back down.
“Just once in the morning and once at night. Just check in and let me know everything's all right. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes, sir,” she says pertly, I see the smile playing around the corners of her mouth.
Yes, sir, I repeat in my mind, letting that word pinball through me. It's nice. Not as nice when she called me daddy by mistake, but…
I clear my throat. Freddie turns around and heads back to the garage and I walk past her, fighting the urge to pat her on the head, hug her goodbye, or even salute. It's awkward, just leaving like this, but I know I've got to do it.
And for the next couple of days, she does exactly what I asked. She sends me a text in the morning, and another at night. On the second day, I actually stare at my phone on the small table in the hotel room, waiting for it to buzz, light up. When it finally does, I feel such a wave of excitement and relief that I actually laugh to myself, alone in the room.
That's how ridiculous this is. That's how close to the edge I am. I'm talking to myself in hotel rooms now.
When I see her message, it gives me a sharp, bone-deep thrill.
All good here. XO.
X0? As in…
And before I know it, I'm hard again. It's gotten to the point now where every thought of her gives me an erection instantly. It's an inconvenience, and I started masturbating in the shower every day, just hoping that that will take the edge off and give me less of a hair trigger.
I know I'm just infatuated, but I don't know what to do about it.
On the third day of my trip, I finally get to meet with Candace, the president of the Atlanta branch of the Federated Bank. Her secretary shows me into her office and I settle into a club chair in front of her desk, trying to distract myself from the unceasing thoughts of Kita.
Candace has pictures of herself with various dignitaries on each wall. A fearless corporate leader, she's brilliant and one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen.
I hear the door open behind me and feel the shif
t in air currents as she strides into the room. She sails passed me, with a regal grace to her walk. She removes her glasses and folds them before sitting behind her desk and crossing her long legs at the knee. I can’t help but notice the gracefully curved bones of her shins and the blood red sparkle of her stiletto heels.
“Daniel… so good of you to make time for me,” she purrs. She reaches out with one hand and absentmindedly strokes the leather top of her desk. My eyes follow the motion, waiting to see if she's going to run her thumb along the outside of her index finger, one of the most alluring gestures I have ever seen.
And she does.
And I feel… nothing.
She tips her head to the side, stretching her neck and sighing. “It's so good to see you. Are you sure you can't stay another day or two?”
I swallow, hard, trying to find some sense of attraction for her. I should be… in fact, I know that I used to be. For a time I thought that if I could make room in my life for anyone, I could make room in my life for Candace. Neither of us ever bothered to get around to it. But now… absolutely nothing. Not even a dial tone.
“Oh, I wish I could, Candace. But I think everything is already taken care of. There is nothing else I could do here.”
She leans forward, resting her elbows on the desk and balancing her chin on her fingers.
“Nothing?” she repeats. I can tell by the slight squint in her eyes that she's wondering about my coolness. I am also wondering about my coolness, to be honest. We have flirted before, and I've always been able to reciprocate. But at this point, I simply can't.
“Yes, your security is watertight. Actually, I should congratulate you. Your new CTO has done a fantastic job securing your data centers.”
“Is that right?” Her gaze drifts off to the left, a sign that she's distracted.
“Yes, I told you Richard was the best. I'm really glad it has worked out for you.”
She smiles thinly. She's figured it out. She leans back in her chair and crosses her arms across her middle, indicating that she accepts the new timbre of our relationship.
“Well, thank you for recommending him. And thank you for coming out to inspect his work. I definitely feel better knowing that all my espionage experts agree on the state of our… espionage.”
I nod, returning her smirk, knowing that our business is done. But since it's only been thirty seconds, I suppose we’re supposed to enter some kind of small talk exchange.
There is definitely something I need her advice on, anyway. It’s the main reason I had to come.
“Candace, what do you remember about Chi Rho Pi?”
Her perfectly lacquered mouth opens and then closes. She waits a couple of seconds before she speaks.
“The sorority? Why would you ask me about that?”
I see the tendons in her ankle flex, a sign that she's distressed.
Now I am even more intrigued.
“Well, I seem to recall that you are a member of that sorority, is that true?”
I know it's true, but I need a better sample of her reaction. From the sum of her micro-expressions and body language, I can tell that she has quite a bit to say about the sorority.
“Yes, that's true,” she says quietly.
“The reason I'm asking,” I begin, not wishing to torture her any longer, “is that I've had some dealings with them in the past. They have recently escalated some… bullying behaviors, I guess you could call it. Some inappropriate hazing. But that can't be systemic, can it? I think that the problem is this one young woman in particular —”
“— what is her name?”
Candace leans forward suddenly, her nostrils flared, a blush in her cheeks. This is important information for her.
“Elizabeth Whitmore,” I answer without delay.
She glances at the ceiling, a sign that she's frustrated now.
“Well, it's good to have a name. Thank you for that.”
“You were looking for a name?”
She nods tensely.
After a moment, she seems to consider what she needs to say to me and then comes to some kind of decision.
“There's been some… talk. And yes, this is rather new behavior. This is not something that I experienced directly. But I had heard there was a, shall we say… gallery.”
I shake my head, not understanding.
“A gallery of what?”
She frowns almost imperceptibly. “A gallery of pictures. Shall we say, candid pictures. I haven't seen them myself, mind you. But from my understanding there is some financial motivation. Some, perhaps, impropriety…”
I lean forward in my chair. “Wait, are you telling me there are pictures? For sale?”
She says nothing, but nods.
“By candid, do you mean…”
“That perhaps the girls don't know. Or perhaps they do; perhaps it's all staged and made to look like the girls don’t know. I hear it’s very convincing. As I said, I haven’t actually seen the photographs. It's a private exchange.”
She waves her hand in the air vaguely, as though brushing away an unpleasant odor.
I stand suddenly. The room seems to have gotten quite close, too close. I need some air. I need to be going.
“Candace, thank you so much for your time,” I mutter, already turning toward the door.
She sighs, and I can hear several things in that small sound. Sadness, frustration, anger. How much of that is directed at me, I don't know. I can't even care anymore. I need to get out of this room.
But before I leave, I turn around, gruffly thanking her and making eye contact one last time. She's done me a favor, and am thankful, but I doubt I'll ever see her again. She seems to know it too, and waves at me from behind her desk, goodbye.
Chapter 36
Kita
I don't have to be quiet, but now it's such a habit that I can hardly stop myself.
Yesterday, it still kind of felt like he was here. Like his vibrations were still in the house. But today, everything seems strangely empty. All I can hear is my phone going off from time to time, the almost silent motor in the refrigerator in the kitchen, and any noise that I'm making. I seem quite loud. I wonder if I disturb him more than I thought on a day-to-day basis.
With finals coming, we have a few days of no classes and I get to sleep in late. Finally I get up around 9 o'clock and stretch for a long time, finally rolling out of bed and spending fifteen minutes or so luxuriating in long yoga poses. By the end of it, I'm a little overheated and sweaty, feeling invigorated.
I just walk right out into the hall in my panties. Just why not? There's nobody here to see me, so I can kind of pretend I own the place.
I think again, this is sort of place I would own, if I got to pick. It used to be a warehouse or something, but Daniel made it nice. There's exposed brick everywhere, rafters and painted ductwork. Lots of open spaces, but the upstairs is quiet and secluded.
I keep looking at those rafters hungrily. I could try a balance beam routine on them but I'm so out of practice. It would probably be highly embarrassing for Daniel to come back from his trip and find me unconscious on the floor below, injured after a messy dismount.
Not that that would happen. Of course. I'm sure I could remember a few things.
But I'm not going to try it. Definitely not.
I head out to take a shower and kind of pause in the hallway, looking at Daniel’s closed door.
Would he mind?
Of course he would mind. He's an extremely private person.
So I have to be extra careful.
I sneak to the end of the hallway, tiptoeing for no particular reason. The doorknob is almost warm against my palm as I open the door, letting myself into his secret chamber.
His scent is what I notice first. It almost knocks me over. This room, though it seems so tidy, smells like he was just here. Such a manly, thick scent, a combination of soap and maybe a little sweat.
I walk over to his bed, stroking his pillow with my fingertips. Befor
e I even know I'm going to do it, I bend over and bury my face in the pillow, inhaling deeply. It does smell like him. Actually, it smells so much like him that I'm filled with longing. I sort of want to roll around on his bed, touch myself, imagine what it would be like to…
Okay, that's bananas. Just stop.
But I could maybe borrow one of his shirts again? Something like that? He didn’t seem to mind last time. I could replace it before he even got home and he would never know.
No, really, I have to stop. I don't even know what's come over me.
His dresser is simple, spotlessly clean and dust free. I open the top drawer carefully, half expecting some kind of alarm to go off. He's got a dozen socks on the left side, nested together and rolled neatly as I might expect. On the right side is a tray with cufflinks and tie bars. A small box.
I open the box. The smell of cedar wafts out at me. In the top of the box is a picture, laminated and glued. Looks to be maybe thirty years old or something like that. A small boy wearing a hat with ear flaps, standing on top of a chair next to a taller boy. They stare seriously into the camera, not smiling at all. Is one of those boys Daniel? I can't help but wonder. They look a lot alike, maybe brothers? Does he have a brother? I don't even know.
I should ask him.
In the box are various trinkets. Subway tokens that we don't use anymore since we have gone to plastic access cards. A small key. Other odds and ends and a slightly bent ring with a cloudy stone. It can't be worth anything. My fingers close around it.
It's not like a wedding ring or anything. It's just some piece of carnival-quality jewelry, but it's worn, rounded around the edges. Somebody - maybe several somebodies - definitely had this on a finger for some time. It's probably very old. It's far too small for him, but it fits perfectly on my ring finger.
As I slide it snugly over the knuckle, I just kind of stare at for a minute. That's what that would feel like: to have someone slide a ring onto my finger.
