The Scarlett Letters

by Jenny Nordbak

  Then he flashed me his phone, and my heart sunk. He had pulled up my page on the Dungeon’s Web site. I could only watch in horror as he pulled my mom into the hallway. I didn’t know what to do. I could run out and try to stop him, but that might make it worse. The asshole didn’t even know she was my mom. He just thought she was my boss. I was shaking so badly I thought I was going to be sick.

  I sat back down in my chair and resigned myself to whatever was happening. If she found out, I would just have to deal with it.

  She popped her head back in and said, “You coming?”

  I searched her expression for some indication that he had outed me, but she looked totally normal.

  “What did the doc want?”

  “Nothing. He was just getting my contact info.”

  I didn’t know whether it was a threat or I was just being paranoid. Had that even really been what was on his screen? I thought I had been given a reprieve, but he could change his mind at any time.

  42. LORNA

  I had, as usual, waited until the week before taxes were due to start working on filing mine. As employees of the Dungeon, we were considered independent contractors, which meant we got butt-fucked on our taxes unless we were smart about claiming business expenses. What, you didn’t think Dominatrices got away with not paying taxes, did you? Even as a Mistress, I couldn’t avoid that the Man is Master to us all.

  The previous year I hadn’t known what I was allowed to deduct, so I was completely unprepared and just filed the additional income without including any expenses. Raven had since let me borrow her accountant slave for an afternoon and he gave me a crash course in what receipts to keep and how I could file them. After this year, I wanted to get audited just so I could watch the IRS guy’s reaction as I explained why a single tail whip, floggers, nipple clamps, rope, and the wild assortment of other items I had purchased for my work at the Dungeon qualified as business expenses. It would be a little different from the postage stamps and printer paper that he was used to seeing.

  I was down to the wire, but I was ready. I had my receipts organized in neat piles around the table and a spreadsheet with the correct deduction codes for each item.

  My mom came over to have lunch with me in the middle of my process and, with a frustrated sigh, I went to sweep all of my piles off the table, but I just couldn’t do it. I was emotionally exhausted and sick of telling her lies. When I had been sure that Yoshi was going to blow it, I had been ready to vomit with panic. But if I was honest with myself, I was also relieved. I hated the idea of her thinking differently of me, but by hiding what had become such a huge part of my life, I was pretending to be someone that I wasn’t anymore. At the very least, I was hiding a part of myself that I wasn’t ashamed of. Scarlett was one of the best parts of me, and I felt that my mom deserved a little more faith than I was giving her. I needed to trust that she would love me no matter what. If she was going to find out, I wanted it to be on my terms with me controlling the message. In an instant, I decided to tell her.

  “What’s all this?” she asked as I cleared a big enough space for her to set the food down.

  “Ugh, taxes.” I sighed.

  “Leaving it to the last minute, are we?”

  “Always.”

  I watched her take in the receipts and the extra paperwork beyond a W-2.

  “Why all the receipts? You know you can just take the standard deduction and not keep all of these, right?”

  “Yeah … about that.”

  My hands were trembling under the table.

  “I’ve been working a second job for a while now and I’ve been keeping it a secret because I didn’t think you would approve.”

  She didn’t bother asking what it was. She just looked worried and waited for me to continue. I wasn’t sure I had my thoughts in order, so I just started babbling and hoped it would come out okay. If I hesitated I was going to chicken out.

  “I’ve been working as a Dominatrix. Before you jump to any conclusions about what that means, I’m not having sex with anyone. And I’m not technically a prostitute.”

  Her eyes were huge.

  “I work at this place called the Dungeon with a bunch of other girls who do the same thing. It’s all really safe and clean … and we have these clients who come in with fascinating fetishes and we play them out. But there’s no penetration or exchange of bodily fluids or anything like that. I was curious, and it has opened my eyes to this whole other side of people.”

  She hesitated another moment to see whether I was finished and then broke into a smile.

  “Good for you.”

  “Excuse me?” This was not the reaction I had anticipated.

  “I’m proud of you for having the balls to do what you want. I wish I had experimented more when I was younger.”

  “Good God! That’s your reaction? I’ve been terrified for almost two years that you would find out and my life would be over!”

  “Jenny, you’re an adult. It’s your life. I want you to be safe and wouldn’t want you to do anything you would regret, but ultimately they’re your mistakes to make.”

  “Well, fuck me,” I said as I slumped back into my chair trying to process it.

  “So are you going to tell me more about it now?”

  “Uh … sure … I’m just really stunned.”

  “Oh, come on. Your old mother isn’t that much of a fuddy-duddy.”

  Turns out, she really wasn’t. I won’t embarrass her by getting too specific, but let’s just say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

  * * *

  Wes was surprised that I had revealed my secret to my mom, but quickly embraced the idea of sharing, taking it to mean that he could tell whomever he pleased. We were at his friend’s apartment with a group of his buddies from law school one evening when he took things too far.

  Joints had been passed around and numerous beers consumed, but I stayed sober since I was driving and had to work both jobs the following day. I had struggled through a hangover one too many times. Sitting at my desk and keeping my head down to make it through the workday is one thing. Having to follow that up with clients at the Dungeon was another entirely. Being a Dominatrix is physically and mentally taxing work. It takes focus or you can hurt someone … well, unintentionally hurt them that is. You wouldn’t want your hairdresser to be sleep-deprived and out of it from the night before … you sure as shit don’t want someone who’s hitting you in that state.

  I had mostly checked out of the conversation and was scrolling through a hilarious client request e-mail about me being a giantess and devouring teeny little men when I was snapped back to reality by Wes’s voice.

  “Did you guys know that Jenny works two jobs?”

  He was buzzed, I could tell, but I cocked my head at him in surprise. What the hell was he playing at?

  “She’s Jenny by day and Scarlett the Dominatrix by night.”

  I didn’t react to the curious faces that turned my way. There was still an opportunity to play it off as a joke if I didn’t get upset.

  “Oh yeah, you know me…” I said with dismissive sarcasm.

  “No, c’mon, it’s fine. You can tell the guys. She works at this place called the Dungeon and her customers are into all kinds of weird shit. Look—she’s on the Web site if you don’t believe me!”

  That cocksucking Web site is nothing but trouble.

  “I don’t think you need to show them that.” I tried calmly glaring daggers at Wes.

  “Give them a little demo then. Show Matt what you do!” Wes said, patting his friend Matt on the shoulder.

  As I look back on it now and try to remember the combination of words and actions that followed, I can’t come up with anything that would explain what happened next: I fucking gave in and did it.

  I remember hating myself as I straddled Matt and whispered scary things in his ear, in the confusing mix of seduction and intimidation that I had mastered over the years. Deep down, I think I felt like I owed Wes som
ething. Like he allowed me to do what I wanted with my clients, so I should be willing to do what he wanted with his friends.

  I emotionally detached as I would with a client, and tried to tell myself that it wasn’t a big deal, but in the back of my mind a voice was screaming that this was wrong. How dare he treat me like a toy to be passed around to amuse his friends? I had never felt so worthless. I was supposed to be a Goddess in his eyes and instead I felt like trash. No client had ever made me feel so objectified.

  Matt’s fingertips brushed my bare thigh as he said dreamily, “She has really soft skin for a white girl.”

  Matt was Indian. Is he saying Indian girls have softer skin? Wait, did he just talk about me like I’m not here?

  I shrugged and thrust my knee hard against his balls, knocking whatever he was about to say next out of him in a rush of breath. Then I turned on my mental autopilot, putting on a show for this group of drunken fools. It wasn’t really their fault, though.

  I was appalled at the way Wes was treating me, but what was even worse is that I didn’t stand up for myself. I performed like his fucking dancing monkey. I went through the motions of dominating Matt, blowing his mind, but my own mind was reeling. How had things become so topsy-turvy? I was supposed to be the Domme, and here I was doing my sub’s bidding. We were supposed to be in a loving, open relationship in which we encouraged each other to explore and enjoy ourselves, but somehow any tie between us had been lost. He didn’t give a fuck what I was doing or whether I enjoyed it. Had he ever? Thinking back, our sex life had always been about me dominating him for his pleasure. Certainly, I enjoyed it most of the time or at the very least was amused by it, but that wasn’t what it was about for him. Words from my breakup with Henry echoed in my mind.

  I have never had an orgasm in your presence, and you don’t even care!

  Was I really here again? I had grown and changed and fucking lived in the years since Henry, but I was still in a relationship in which my partner, the person who was supposed to put my needs first, put them somewhere between “irrelevant” and “if it amuses my friends.”

  I felt sick as we got in the car to drive home. Wes babbled away excitedly in the seat next to me about how epic the night had been and how he was going to be a legend at school. I glanced over at him and couldn’t find the man I had feelings for. Through his actions, he had become a stranger. I opened my mouth to explain how deeply he had just hurt me. I closed it again without uttering a syllable. If he didn’t understand that it was wrong in the first place, I would be wasting my breath trying to explain it to him.

  I tuned him out and stared out of the windshield. I caught sight of the moon and noticed that only the tiniest sliver was showing. It struck me how well it suited my bleak feelings of worthlessness. And then I gave myself a swift kick up the ass and changed gears. I chose instead to see it as an offering of a new beginning, a chance to take everything I had learned and experienced and use it to grow.

  I always assumed that being in an open relationship was what would ultimately break us up if anything did, but in the end, that wasn’t really the problem. The real problem was a lack of respect.

  43. ANDREW

  I was a flurry of nerves as I got ready to have dinner with my dad for the first time. I didn’t know what to wear. In the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter, but it seemed singularly important in my edgy state. The last time I had seen him I was still a child, and now I was a grown woman. I wanted to look like one, but didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard or taking it too seriously. In other words, I didn’t want to dress like a librarian just to impress him. But I also didn’t want him to be disappointed in how I had turned out. I kept berating myself that I shouldn’t care what he thought, but there was no way to make myself believe it.

  After trying on what felt like 912 possible outfits and leaving my room strewn with clothes, I departed on time in a suitably demure, business-casual dress with patent leather platform stiletto heels … my favorite trampling shoes. Just standing in them gave me confidence. If I got too nervous, I planned to look down at them and imagine all of the men I had crushed beneath them. Visualization is a powerful tool.

  We were meeting at a restaurant down in La Jolla, so I had over an hour of drive time to gather my thoughts. I felt vulnerable in a way I had never experienced, and I didn’t like it. I wanted so badly to have him back in my life, but was terrified that I would get hurt again. I didn’t want to need him. My whole body was shivering with nerves by the time I pulled up to the valet. I got out of the car, and as I found my balance on my heels, I also found my center mentally. Scarlett didn’t get nervous. Scarlett made people nervous. I squared my shoulders, gave the valet a flirty smile beneath my lashes, and sauntered into the restaurant like I was going to meet a client in the interview room.

  My dad was already seated at a table, so the hostess led me there. I had the silly thought that he might not recognize me, but decided that surely I hadn’t changed that much. I saw him an instant before he saw me, and then our eyes met. I compelled myself not to look away. On the inside, my emotions were a roiling maelstrom that threatened to overwhelm me. I produced a calm smile and hugged him without letting it show.

  “Good to see you!” I grinned with obviously forced levity.

  He smiled back. For a fraction of a second, I thought he was going to cry and knew I would have no chance of holding it together. Thankfully, he swallowed, and the moment passed.

  Now what the fuck do we talk about?

  “How was your drive?” he asked.

  “Not too bad. Not much traffic, so I made good time getting down here. How about your flight?”

  “Not too bad either. Unremarkable really.”

  “I’ve missed you,” I blurted, meeting his eyes and lowering my guard a bit. We could chatter superficially all night, but that wasn’t why I had come here. I decided to be brave and take the first step to meeting him halfway.

  “Me too.” He sighed.

  It was uncomfortable and I could feel the lure of small talk tapping on my brain. We could take the easy way out, deal with the hard stuff later, but deep down, I knew I wasn’t programmed that way anymore.

  “Well, this is a little weird, right? We know so much about each other, but are practically strangers,” I admitted.

  “We’ll just have to rebuild.”

  With that, we talked through dinner, filling in the gaps from the past seven years. It was deeper than small talk, but still superficial enough that we weren’t touching any land mines. We didn’t mention Eleanor or Danny, just skirted around it when the conversation got too close. I thought I was fine, but then I started to get frustrated with the way we were avoiding it like it was going to go away.

  I lost control, blurting, “What the hell happened?”

  He shifted uncomfortably, physically backing away from addressing the issue. It made me angry. Why were we here if we weren’t going to talk about it? How could we possibly go forward without confronting what was lurking behind us? I needed answers, damn it. I sighed deeply, in an instant accepting that I was never going to get them. He didn’t have most of them to give and the few he did would be too painful to put out in the open. The man had experienced enough pain for one lifetime. Asking him to rehash any of it to make me feel better would be cruel. If we moved forward, those would be the terms: we could start something new, but I would have to find a way to lay the past to rest without his help. I didn’t know if I could do it. I wanted to be a big enough person to rise above it and shower the situation with love, but thinking that is easy. Doing it when you’ve been hurt that deeply is fucking hard.

  Did I really need him to acknowledge that I hadn’t been the crazy one? That one had been proven with brutal finality. None of us were ever going to understand why she did it, least of all him. So what was I hoping for?

  I thought I wanted an apology, but now that I was here, I mostly just wanted to hug him and tell him that I was sorry.

&nbs
p; We grow up thinking that our parents are “grown-ups,” which means they shouldn’t make mistakes. And then one day, you wake up and you’re supposed to be a grown-up and a parent, and you realize that age and offspring don’t really leave you any better equipped to handle the madness that life throws at you.

  We parted that night with hugs and an understanding that we would look forward instead of back, and find a way to be a family again.

  Something strange and unexpected began to happen in my mind after we started to heal our relationship. I felt whole again in a place that I didn’t know had been broken, and I saw my future differently. I wanted to be the kind of woman that he had always encouraged me to be. Not to say that I wasn’t, but there was a glaring problem. I didn’t want to introduce him to Wes. I tried to reason through why that would be, but I just kept arriving at the conclusion that I knew he wasn’t right for me. My dad would see through him in a heartbeat, and I didn’t want him to know that I had become the kind of woman who allowed herself to be treated the way I was by Wes. My dad made me feel like I deserved better. Even with the gap in our relationship, seeing him had reminded me that he had always understood me in a way that almost no one else did. He didn’t just see who I was, but who I wanted to be.

  44. TREASURE TROLLS

  I was burdened by an inability to flip the switch back on in my relationship to see Wes the way I used to. But a weight had also been lifted. I didn’t have to live in perpetual fear of my mom finding out about my other life now that she knew just what I had been up to. That should have been more of a boon, but I felt restless and jaded at the Dungeon in the weeks that followed. I was grumpy and knew I was taking it out on my clients, but couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that I was just over all of it. I was ready to move on, but transitioning away from the world that had become my new family seemed unthinkable.