by KT Morrison
She knew that the company they were using now for coloured concrete, Chromacrete, had pissed him off. Two lots of mismatched colour batches that had caused a lot of trouble. Rocco had closed himself into his office and fucking screamed at them over the phone. Lucky their office was in Calgary or he would have visited in person. She wondered how they would react if he had met them in person. How quickly they would have acquiesced. In the end they did anyway, after threats of legal interruption. The company had reimbursed him the trouble, the labour it took to correct their already laid mixup, but Rocco was done with them. They were under new ownership he said and the new owner was a twenty-seven year old jackoff who didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. He told this new company he’d left Chroma and was with Brenner Colour now but that was a lie. This guy would know Chroma was on the ropes and if Rocco said he was still with Chroma he’d have pull. Just dumb macho business tricks but she loved to see him work.
This guy, young hungry male, pumped up arms like Rocco but a head shorter looked up to Rocco literally and figuratively. He was doing everything he could to win Rocco’s favour. Submitting to the dominant male. It had been like this all day and it was such a turn on. Knowing she was going to fuck Rocco, witnessing him dominating other males all day…watching other men bend to his will—it put butterflies in her tummy. He was a force. He had a presence. He was a macho fucking stud.
She took her phone out of her skirt pocket, didn’t look at it, just let her thumb ease up and down the crystal surface. She swore she was going to make Geoff suffer with her silence. She wanted that for him. Her imaginative husband would make himself crazy. More crazy than if she let him know the play-by-play. Plus she wanted to be alone in this. She wanted to forget about Geoff. But she couldn’t forget her best friend.
Fuck it. She smirked, looked at her phone, swiped it awake. She texted, laughing to herself softly.
NIA
Odie could have stayed with Winslow…should have stayed with Winslow, but she really wanted her daddy. So Geoff was at his signing table, a crowd of maybe a hundred to see him and the others, Odie hanging off his chair, and climbing on his lap. Next to him, Cole Nassau who wrote Kid Starbuck, Beli Mawr Lupardus who wrote Pride about a pride of struggling lions in Iraq, twenty-four year old Lucy Mannix who wrote and drew a questionable book about future employment that made no sense to him, and Marshall Forster, on his right, whose recent book was about a family of commercial planes, and whom he’d spent many shows sitting next to.
Marshall was wrapping up with a fan, a fourteen-year-old girl who’d grown up reading his books. He was all smiles, shaking her hand, idly wiggling a pen while he talked, between an index and middle finger. She left and he turned and said, “Geoff, beer, you, me, thirty minutes…”
An usher, a meek-looking heavyset kid with black dress pants and a black polo was delivering a man and his young daughter over to Geoff from the velvet rope mouth of the twisting line. Geoff laughed, said, “What do you think, O? What do you drink? You like a pilsner right?”
“I don’t know,” she said, being sweet and cute about it.
Marshall laughed, said, “Odie likes an IPA, don’t you, O?”
“What?” she said, coyly, making her way over to Marshall now and hanging off his chair.
“Or a raspberry wheat,” Geoff said.
“Raspberry wheat?” Marshall asked her.
“I don’t know,” she sang, then, “I like raspberries.”
“Where’s Nia?” Marshall said, but Geoff turned to the man and his daughter and gave them a big friendly smile and he shook their hands.
He heard Odie tell Marshall that her mommy was at work in Montréal. The man was about Geoff’s age and his little girl was about Odie’s age. She was a little sweetheart and she had long blonde curly hair. She was so shy she hid from Geoff, and her dad made fun of the situation saying she made him stand in line at least she could talk to the nice man. Geoff took her book from her and he asked her to come close. He took a narrow Sharpie once he had her attention and he drew a box, leaving gaps where he’d put the steam chimney, and he drew wheels, then the marker danced around drawing pieces of the train, keeping her guessing what it was going to finally look like, then he had her draw the final five straight lines that made up the grill of the cowcatcher and her shyness was gone. Odie was over and she leaned her forearms on the table and watched the little girl draw for her dad. Geoff told her she had real talent and asked her if she liked to draw. She nodded and he told the dad that Odie was his little helper, putting a hand on her back and saying she was getting an early start and she’d already drawn a whole book about—
And then Odie was off telling the little blonde girl all about the ogre and the prince and Geoff leaned back laughing, taking the little girl’s book and putting a finishing touch on her personalized train and then signing it Geoff J. Kane along the bottom with his fancy signature.
“Nia’s not here?” Marshall asked, leaning over in his chair, in between guests.
“Nope. She’s working.”
“Shoot, Katie wanted to do dinner…”
“Hey, how’s Katie?”
“She’s good, we just had another one, so…she’s looking for an adult night…”
His phone vibrated in his front pocket of his jeans and it made him jump. His scalp tingled.
“Oh shoot,” he said, clutching at his phone, “Hold on, bud, that might be Nia.”
He took his phone and turned away from the table while Odie still explained her Princess story. His phone’s screen was alive and he read the text from Nia and watched it fade to black as his heart went cold and the blood drained from his face.
Nia: his cock is fucking huge
His hand was shaking. He looked around at Marshall, engaged now with a mom and dad and their two little kids, Odie was drawing in the air with his sharpie and making explosion noises, the dad was laughing and his little girl chewed her lip, quite interested in Odie’s fanciful tale. Geoff’s ears rang like there was a siren in the hall, he blinked, put his phone in his shirt pocket, took six tries before he looked down and saw the pocket flap was closed over and he lifted it and put the phone in his shirt. He clenched his hands. Open. Closed. He rubbed them on his thighs. They were fucking crazy wet. The kid in black on black was there to pleasantly remind the dad to keep the line moving and he nodded and Geoff stood, only could get up a third of the way, all the strength in his legs completely gone—he shook his hand then his daughter’s hand and he plopped heavily back down in his chair and grunted.
Breathe in Geoff, breathe in. He stopped the kid in black, said to hold on, he had to go to the washroom, said, watch my girl. He got up, sat back down again. Got up and pulled himself weakly along the table til his legs started working again. He said to Marshall to watch Odie two minutes, gotta go to the, uh, the, uh, the can. Marshall said yeah, sure and Odie went to him and climbed on his lap now and Geoff reached over and patted her head clumsily, saw his hand still shaking as he did it. Okay, he said to no one and he stumbled to the black curtain, next to the name Geoff J. Kane, and he grabbed at the hanging black cotton, knew there was a way through somewhere fucking somewhere here, for fuck’s sake, found it, yanked it, frustrated, and charged through. Straight ahead, a bathroom door and he lurched to it, pressed his palms to it, then grasped the cold metal handle and fell in, staggered to a stall and closed himself inside.
Oh, Nia, Nia, Nia. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. He fell back onto the toilet. Someone was in the stall next to him, could see their shoes. Wow. Oh wow. You fucking asked for this, Geoff. Enjoy it. Here it is buddy. She’d fucked him. Got fucked with his huge cock. He ran his hands up and down the denim of his thighs til his palms burned like they would burst into flames. He moaned. The moaning soothed him. Guy next to me—it’s just a big shit, this is how I coax it out. He moaned again and looked to the ceiling, heard the metal echo of his own sound coming back to him. No tears came. His heart hammered. He felt regret. He felt alive. He felt in lov
e. He wanted her right now. He had the urge to get up, get Odie, get to the car, drive to fucking Montréal, go to her hotel and put his arms around her. Was she okay? Was she safe? God—was that big man good to her?
He texted.
G-Force: love you so much
He chuckled. He did love her so much, his best friend. Ha, now the tears came. Happy tears. His hand squeezed his cock through his jeans. He needed her with him right now, needed her so badly. He let his cock go. She had rules. No touching and he wouldn’t. Obeying her rules was like having her with him right now. He let himself go. Laughed silently like a maniac, clenched his eyes til the tears that had swelled were squeezed from him and he wiped them away. He sniffed loudly and sat up straight. Okay. Just like twelve years ago. You could do this, Geoff. You’ll see your sweet friend tomorrow. See her on a Sunday and have a coffee, make cookies or brownies, and you’ll be her good buddy and make everything in her life that was wrong—well, you’re gonna make it right for her. Except tomorrow when you see her she’ll look in your eyes with love. And when you’re done with making her feel like things are right again, you’ll turn the TV off and take her upstairs to the bedroom you share and you’ll make love to her. Make love to her as her husband. Like no other man can. No other man could ever love her like you do. Ha, ha, yes, he hissed to himself, didn’t care who heard. Yup, and then you’ll wake up the next morning to the daughter you cherish together. This was exciting. This. Was. Exciting. Remember that.
He got himself out, flushed the empty toilet and he went to the sink and washed his hands and then splashed lots and lots of fresh cold water on his face. Dried it with rough paper towel and smiled for himself, split his beard with a white tooth grin, left and went back to Odie and to sign some books for the people that loved what he did.
NIA
Nia pressed a long glossy red fingernail along the top edge of the stainless steel steak knife and sawed through the buttery flesh. A porterhouse, swimming in red.
She’d stood in front of Rocco in her black lingerie and her stockings with lacy straps clasped in gold along her bare thighs and told him she wanted to go out for dinner. He’d said, “I’ll order room service,” his deadly eyes locked on her half-naked body. She’d stood casually in front of him, just a woman getting dressed, had said, “I’m going out. Do you want to come?”
They were in a polished wood steakhouse now in the shoreline edge of Ville-Marie. Sitting at a linen tablecloth booth with red velvet curtains at the partitions. The waiters wore tuxedos. Rocco’s bulk was squeezed into a black short-sleeve shirt, tucked into khaki pants. The restaurant had a lax dress code in the summer. He looked like he wanted to tear someone’s head off. If they’d asked him to wear a tie, he might have. He was having the Porterhouse as well. Sawing and eating, his face clenched in bad temper.
He’d stood then, in his side of the suite, looking at her as she stood hip-cocked in her skimpy lace things in the archway of the partition, and he’d said, “What do you want?” A philosophical question, a man struggling with the will of a woman. She’d answered him coyly, literally—she’d smiled and said “Steak.”
Rocco had grunted like an animal, looked down at her through his brows, his mouth a tense line, the muscles in his jaw and temple had been pulsing. He knew she was playing a game. He knew it and he wasn’t going to fall for it. Nia knew he wasn’t going to fall for it right up until the moment he did fall for it.
He’d stepped forward and she’d turned, let him see her beautiful ass in her black thong underwear her husband had bought her. Knew he’d see her round cheeks, scored by a lacy black triangle that scooped the taut curve of her healthy flesh. Knew he’d watch one cheek lift, the other fall and give a gentle jiggle as she took three swaying steps into her room and turned and closed the partition, let him hear the clicking mechanism of the lock.
GEOFF
Winslow was laughing and playing patty-cake with Odie in the backseat of the car. Geoff could see them in the rearview. His little girl was cackling so hard, so high, she couldn’t breathe. No one had ever played patty-cake with her before. Odie loved new games and if it meant horsing around and slapping hands with her new best buddy she was all about it.
“Patty-cake, patty-cake, baker’s man,” he sang to her and she giggled a piercing sound over top of their clapping hands.
Geoff hunched his shoulders up to protect his ears. Stuck in traffic on the Gardiner, by Palais Royale, almost home. It had been a good show. A good show but the afternoon had been ruined for him. He couldn’t shake her text. Couldn’t stop thinking of what it meant. She’d seen it. She’d interacted with it. Had she sucked it? Did he fuck her? What if he fucked her ass? Maybe Rocco was too big for that. Geoff squeezed the wheel.
“Build me a cake as fast as you can!” Hands clapping and slapping.
He’d decided not to bug Nia. She said she was going to not even think about him til she got back. That was hot. His bad wife. His independent woman. He liked the idea. He hadn’t quite known that meant she wouldn’t text him at all…that she would ignore his texts. But he’d been getting off a little on the frustration. It led his mind to horrible places and he liked those places, liked the blackness it spread through his belly. He’d replied to her text, told her he loved her. He was glad with that. Felt good, went back to the show, wondering what all of this was like for Nia. He went through everyone that wanted to see him, signed books, pressed his trembling sweaty palms to theirs and smiled through the wonderful pain. He went back to Evergreen and hung with Jenny for an hour with Odie by his side. Did his Q&A. He took O through the show for a while and bought her some books. Bought Marshall’s book for her when he stopped by to see him and say hi to Katie. By then though his resolve was tarnished. Weakened and brittle. He went to his table and sat with Winslow. His shoulders were heavy and his smile was not coming easy. Since then he’d texted Nia three more times.
G-Force: worried, why won’t you respond. You ok?
G-Force: I’m dying here. Are we doing the right thing?
G-Force: Are we making a mistake? Txt me back
She was too smart for him. Nothing. No response. He told her he liked this and she was making him enjoy it no matter what his current mindset might say. Or maybe she was still in bed with him. Not even looking at her phone. Taking load after load on her chest. Jerking that thing off all over her precious tits. Maybe they’d decided to work their way through that whole dozen box of extra-large Rough Riders. Maybe she was falling in love.
“Roll it, pat it, mark it with a—”
They both said their own initial, Odie saying O, Winslow saying double-U. Odie laughed said, What, you can’t use double-U, it doesn’t fit. Winslow said, the beat? Odie just said O again and slapped his hands, he laughed said, we can’t keep using O over and over. Odie said Let’s do Dad, Dad’s a G but he’s supposed to be a J…he doesn’t know what he’s doing…
NIA
They rode the elevator in silence. It was like a closet. With Rocco’s bulk in there with her the cab would only stand one more person safely on its black and white checkerboard floor. Nia checked her phone absently. She was aware of Rocco next to her, leaning against the smoky gold-veined mirror, running his hand over his chin and shaking his head as he watched the lit numbers above the control panel climb to ‘4’.
It dinged, came to a stop, gave a slight heave and a groan, then the doors clattered open and they stepped out, Nia in the lead. They walked the hall to the end, to the double black doors that would take them to their rooms.
“Come in for a glass of wine,” he said.
She paused and she thrust an arm out, loosely shook it, bent it and peered at her Gucci. “I suppose...” she said.
He huffed, nodded. He grunted. He opened his room with his keycard and held the door for her.
She walked ahead and took her seat in the maple chair between the two tall narrow windows. She watched him come in, throw his things on the walnut dresser, put out two acrylic glasses. He w
ent to the mini-bar and took a half bottle of wine and poured. She could see his struggle for control. He was Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Right now he wanted her to see his control, see she didn’t have him. She knew she had him. He would transform.
“I know your fuckin game,” he said as he handed her a glass of wine and sat in the chair opposite her.
“What game?”
“Right. You think I don’t know you?”
“You know me.”
“You think Dino and me don’t talk?”
“I’m sure you do.”
“We talk,” he said, a mean and knowing smirk turning up one corner of his mouth and slitting his eyes.
“I bet he says all sorts of terrible things.”
“Ha. Sometimes he does.”
“Sometimes? He only sees things one way.”
“His way.”
“You think I’m playing some game?” she said coyly, raising up one eyebrow, condescendingly skeptical. She swayed her hips in her seat, making her legs shift from side to side, her knees touching and her thighs rubbing together. The stockings made their soft sheer sound, a pale flash of thigh cut by stocking strap visible below her skirt hem.
“You think you’re something...” he said, his two big hands with their strong thick fingers suspending his wine glass in front of his face as he scowled over it at her.
