by JR King
“Michael is expecting us. Later tonight we can try any position you’d like, sir.”
“Not positions. I want to fuck your ass,” he announced crisply.
That knocked the wind out of me. I misplaced my step, falling awkwardly against his chest. “I…don’t want to do that.”
“It wasn’t a question, pet. I’m telling you, that’s all.”
I bit down on an anguished moan. I guessed I’d lucked out until this moment. The horror was about to begin.
Elena Anderson
The Dinner Party
Michael, who lived less than five minutes away from Alexander’s Beacon Hill residence, opened the door and let us in. Upon entering, Alexander proceeded to properly hand off the bottle of wine and professed we were late due to some home emergency.
“Don’t fuck with me, Alex.” Michael dragged us in, ripping the bottle from his hand. “I know why you peeps are late. I don’t remember El ever looking so fresh and radiant. Her cheeks are disturbingly pink.”
I performed the whole exaggerated deep sigh thing and kidded, “In-store makeup demonstration at Sephora.”
Fingering my Fred Leighton harp motif paddle earrings while ambling toward the living area, I felt my stiletto heel catch in the folds of my long skirt. In my attempt to skip the snare, I tugged it away, but when I took another step I plummeted to the floor. Blindly reaching out to brace my fall, I felt the hard clutch of someone’s embrace.
Just a few inches from the ground, a classically dressed man caught me. “Are you all right, baby girl?” The musical lilt of his voice was sweet, like a floral perfume that’s a touch too saccharine and cloying, or a low-calorie sweetener. “Would you like to sit down?”
My lungs expanded while I smelled him, which prompted me to think of heaven. I gazed up at him, found him looking handsome and concerned. His shining dark hair was combed in a side part, and the first thing that struck me about him was the softness of the opalescent grey eyes that complemented his expertly crafted face. I felt a smile creep onto my face. “I can’t believe I almost biffed it. I’m really not clumsy.”
“Sonofabitch. Already in the arms of my dear friend?” Alexander approached us with arms akimbo.
“Don’t tangle us with your smarty-pants observations and clever ploys, champ,” his friend answered. “These things happen frequently when you’re under…duress.” My hero swept a loose strand of hair away from my eyes and said, “Such a pretty girl.” He helped me to my feet while Alexander dug the heel of my shoe out from the thick mass of fabric. Cut from the same cloth, I thought. Dominant. Not the pretend kind, but the kind that exercised ultimate control. In the figurative sense, this was a full Lifetime scene—threesome to follow.
“Tony, this is Elena,” Alexander curtly presented me.
“Little Elena.” Tony’s laugh sounded quite impolite and immature, but nevertheless, the high-pitched decibel was pleasant.
One of my eyebrows rose. “Why little?”
“Little compared to us.” Tony’s apologetic smile looked sincere. Just like Alexander, he was tall and had wide shoulders, and his narrow waist didn’t hang over his belt buckle. “I’m glad to finally meet you.”
“It’s great meeting you in person, Tony,” I answered.
“In case you intend to make him fall for you too, Tony knows better than to touch what’s mine.” Alexander rolled his eyes at Tony, his wide smile deepening his dimples. His sudden playfulness startled me; this boy-next-door edge put him on the highest echelon of irresistible.
“Showing off, dickwit?” Tony scoffed at him.
“Tony’s gay, kitten,” Alexander murmured at me. “Cannot expropriate even if he tries.”
“His gay-dar is totes off, sweetheart,” countered Tony.
“Move it, latecomers.” Michael swatted my behind, and shepherded me in the immediate direction of the crowd. Easy concept, we had the usual suspects tonight. Sara was the only other girl invited, and after air-kisses and initial pleasantries, we mingled. Sporting a boastful smile, Alexander led me with a sturdy grip on the small of my back toward Aidan, and I presented him William and Pablo. Offerings were artfully arranged on silver trays; mini quiches, steak tartare crostinis, Scottish smoked salmon toasts, and Prosciutto wrapped prunes that were speared with tiny silver picks. Tarama accompanied the chips made from kale, black garlic, sunchoke, and radish.
When it was almost time to take our seats, I couldn’t find Alexander. I peered out the kitchen window and spotted him instantly on the glass-covered deck. I heaved in a deep breath as I walked over and plopped down in the seat across from him. Colorful Phalaenopsis and a sweeping view of Boston surrounded us.
Grey eyes that had the tendency to smolder and cloud at the same time stared into mine, holding no emotion. From experience I knew that— whether he chose to smile or glare—his every emotion looked heart-stoppingly gorgeous. Reticence be damned. Eager to please him, I would, I realized, ditch all my inhibitions for this man.
“Don’t look so concerned, Elena.” He looked at me for another minute. The sweep of his glance over my neckline was gratifying. “Would you like some more champagne before dinner?”
I declined, shaking my head. Then I got to the point. “Do we have to do that?”
“I do,” he told me distractedly, either ignoring me or not listening.
Because of the earlier champagne, I’d accrued terrific resilience to tell him off. “I don’t—so it’s settled.”
“What gave you the smashing idea that it’s settled?”
His reviling tone flustered me. Looking at the bold slant of his jaw and the hard line of his lips, I didn’t deign to answer back.
He was studying me. “You’re thriving among our friends.”
I spotted Michael looking at us and gave him a wave.
Alexander followed the movement and stood up. Something changed in his expression. “Don’t you trust me?” He asked this snidely, clicking his tongue. I wondered if he was pissed off because I wasn’t falling for his dominating ways.
My smile wobbled. “I don’t trust myself enough to enjoy it.” I didn't know what to say, or what to do. I wanted to hit him. In truth, my hand flexed involuntarily as if it meant to reach out and slap him in the face.
Despite his nonchalant shrug, I could see his underlying annoyance. “We should go back inside.” He looked at the interior of the house. “Unless you want to participate in a make out session to give your friends something to talk about?”
Confusing, not to mention painful. These tests he so diligently sowed about him were just like the Kobayashi Maru: unwinnable unless you found a way to redefine the problem and its solution. It was gut-wrenching to see him calm and composed, waiting for me to take the bait. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. It’s out of character for me to do something like that in front of my friends.”
He spun his head to look at me, his expression clouded with disbelief. “I didn’t know that,” he went on thoughtfully. Pausing, he shook his head and examined me. “Brown-nosing, aren’t we?”
I bit back the insult and attempted to control myself as I rubbed my neck. Looking over my shoulder, I craved to stand up and push him but feared the repercussions. “It’ll hurt, Alex. I don’t enjoy pain.”
“Aberrant behavior is off-putting, Elena. Most of us enjoy pain, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Tell me about it. Apparently, I also enjoy being forced to go places without prior consent, and stay exiled.”
“Semantics.” A coy smile appeared. “You’re a meal in itself, baby, but I do need some sustenance. I’ll be sampling all of you later.”
I reeled back as if he’d slapped me, my throat tight, my mouth twitching. “Do you have a pocket full of magic pixie dust?” The lie came out before I could stop it. “I know you could force me, but let this be clear; I’m out after that.”
He gave me a blank stare. “Would it be so horrible if I let you discover things? Am I so horrible, Elena? Sure, in m
any ways I’m a Neanderthal. But is it so horrible of me to want to spoil and coddle just one woman, not multiple, just the one, and in return, expect her to honor my decisions and desires in all ways?” He spoke very softly now, and there was agitation in his voice. “Am I so disgusting?”
Had I not known how ruthless he was, I could have sworn he was going to cry. “Stop this.”
“I’m not even asking you to be submissive—,”
“You crossed lines when you sent Robert to fetch me, Alex.” Truly, I was where I longed to be. I’d long since relegated the kidnapping memory in a compartmentalized space in my mind, a scapegoat I used like a get-out-of-jail card. “You’re the epitome of all things manipulation. I can’t do this here…we’re not having this conversation.” A scythe-like blade was carving my insides. Much to my consternation, I sensed a crying session budding inside me, and since I didn’t want to embarrass us, I stood up and walked away.
“Stop right there.”
I froze in place as if he were holding a gun to my head.
My gaze crossed his. His grayish irises were tinted a shade darker now. “You haven’t answered my question. Am I so horrible?”
To die for, was more like it. With his professional track record, the highly coveted status of being a CEO, the thick brush of his eyelashes, the bones of his face resulting in the perfect symmetry, he was absolute brilliance and beauty rolled into one. I couldn’t let it all swell to his head, so I shrugged indifferently, as if it was of the least importance to me. “Alex…,”
“Never mind. Your reluctance is pretty damn eloquent. I might as well get my fill of Savenor’s finest steak and forget about it.” Mercifully, his crystalline composure was in tact again.
I exhaled through pursed lips, felt a flood of relief warm my chest.
He put his jacket back on. I straightened my skirt and finger-combed my hair. “They’re taking their seats,” he told me, smoothing his hair back with his elegant fingers. As he walked away, my heart started beating in a clipped staccato, telling me to be thankful. My feet moved before my brain could stop them. He was just reaching the threshold of the family room when I touched his arm.
He turned around. “Yes?”
I hugged him with all the earnestness I could muster. “Thank you for doing this. I hope you’re enjoying the evening as much as I am.”
He cupped my chin in his left hand, brushing his short nails against my cheeks while he lifted his eyes to mine. “You don’t know the half of it.”
I considered the wisdom of how to redeem myself. I settled for a half-nod and a kiss on his upturned palm.
“Get a room!” someone yelled.
With his signature predatory grin, “Toasts before breaking bread, guys,” Michael stated when everyone was seated.
“Not sure it’s a good idea,” muttered Aidan. “Two very beautiful ladiesh at the table.”
It’s now or never, I said to myself. I scanned the silver-rimmed china and silverware, then tapped the tines of a salad fork against my wine glass a few times.
Sara smiled a dazzling, all-American-girl smile. “Now you have to show us.” The candles lent a glow to her face, making her look all the cheekier.
Tony said, “William, Pablo, this is straight-up. Either of you want in?”
“Hell yeah,” they both answered.
“Ladies, male pedantry alert,” Aidan thusly declared.
What happened next was the weirdest thing ever. With glass in hand, six paragons of affluence rose, looking like they were in another realm. Their glasses were held over their head like holding the Stanley Cup and, judging from their lack of concentration, if the trophy were here they’d have dropped it faster than Denny Crane.
Michael went first, “Here’s to the girl in the come-fuck-me shoes. Steals all your dough, drinks all your booze. She isn’t a virgin, but that ain’t a sin. She still has the box that the cherry came in.”
Aidan second, “May the chestnut haired strumpets with itty-bitties let you pet their pretty kitties!”
William third, “Here’s to tonight and all that it brings, hopefully a hottie that wants a fling.”
Less pompous and tasteful enough, so Sara and I clapped.
Pablo fourth, “Gentlemen! To a good selection, no rejection, a strong erection, a clean injection, and no infection!”
“Brava, Pablo,” Sara and I shouted.
Tony fifth, “Here’s to girls who love to flirt, with touchy feely hands. May those hands toss plenty of shots, then end up down our pants!”
Alexander went last, “Here’s to the women in the high-heeled shoes, who smoke men’s fags and drink men’s booze. And when they kiss, they kiss so sweet; they make things stand that have no feet!” He licked the edge of his mouth and winked at me, his smoldering eyes scorching my skin.
“Straight men can be so vulgar.” Sara’s voice had lost its friendliness. “They’re pigs.”
Incontestably, the hoarse pitch in which she spoke belied the fact that she’d forgiven Michael.
“Hey, our lawyer gave you the disclaimer. You chose to listen, babe,” observed Michael, at which Sara flicked her tongue. “Any Hitlers in the house? Well done steaks, anyone?” he continued.
I lifted a finger. “I think Hitler went vegan, no?”
Aidan winked at me. “Precisely. He’s the Escher of butchering a cow in the worst way.”
“Got it. Got it,” I nodded.
“Stanfordians tend to over-analyze,” Alexander jested. “They’re widely familiar with Milton Friedman.”
“Harvardians tend to be assholes,” I parried.
“You mean Crimsons, Elena,” Tony cut in.
“Okay. That’s it.” For dramatic emphasis, I got up. “I’ll bug off.” Without so much as a backward glance, I stomped away from the table.
Everyone at the table cheered, then, as expected, the host begged me to come back. Dinner at Michael’s was always a swanky affair. I took in the elaborately crafted appetizer, a deconstructed cold salad of sorts, its protein content replaced by bold flavors.
Persnickety eater that he was, Alexander laughed self-deprecatingly when Michael set the plate before him. Under a veil of paper-thin kohlrabi slices, blood sausage was nestled on a bed of melted, puree-like celeriac poached in whey sauce. “Are we having dinner Masa-style?”
Standing at the head of the table, Michael put his foot on the rung of his chair. “I’m thinking of calling the restaurant Meat Masa. Suffices that my fuckface boss gives me the pink slip, exit package will cover everything.”
“I’ve never had pig’s blood.” We all watched Alexander taste a few lumps with much optimism. To emphasize the courageousness of his palate, he smacked his lips together. “Hm.” It all reminded me of Anthony Bourdain sampling unwashed warthog rectum in Namibia. “I actually like it, Mike.”
Aidan said, “Now that the toddler is happy, bon appétit everyone.” He ran his hand through his hair as he smiled at me. It really looked thick and rich and glossy, the strands artfully messy with shiny tips, a lank flop of hair threatening to hinder his right eyesight. The color reminded me of Pierre Marcolini’s dark brown chocolate with threads of gold paper. No grey hairs peppered his sideburns or his temples, making me wonder if he dyed it.
One glass of Riesling did wonders; conversation flowed more freely for me. As for Alexander, there was little variance with what I’d seen during the dinner with my grandparents. He was seated across from me, and it was difficult to elicit a display of affection or an emotional reaction from him. No brief looks that held darkly erotic promises.
“Elena.” William nudged me, his sad clown face trying to guilt-trip me. “Tell us how you met your honey bunny.”
I returned his smile and took a moment to contemplate the question. Carefully, I put my wineglass back on the table, and saw Alexander reaching for his own glass. I studied the blotted kiss my lipstick had left on shiny crystal. Go. “The Liberty Hotel.”
“More,” urged Sara, covering her food-fi
lled mouth with the back of her hand. “You never told me the whole story.”
Leaning back in his chair, Alexander gently swirled the white wine in his glass. He brought the rim to his mouth, paused, and set the glass back down. “I want to hear this too.”
I tried to gauge his mood before reaching for my fork to finish my dish. Jane and I had caught up days ago and agreed upon a baseline story. “I auditioned for Jane Wilkinson’s modeling agency, and she scheduled a photo-shoot on the Ebersol balcony. Guess who was renting the suite and bitched about privacy and lack of attentiveness? He was this close to,” I held my thumb and forefinger a fraction of an inch apart, “renege on his offer to accommodate the politician’s wife.”
Big, shouty laughs around the table, and more importantly, Alexander let out a mammoth of a chuckle. “Fair enough, love.”
“Destiny is fucking awesome. We must celebrate.” For the next dish, Michael broke out Clos des Papes red wines, judiciously selecting ones with Châteauneuf-du-Pape appellations.
As far as main dishes go, everyone was engrossed in their plate of food, taking a William Henry knife to it with unutterable enthusiasm. I dug in, realizing that food might no longer be my enemy. I hadn’t had the urge to throw up this week. Cutting into the blackened meat, red juice seeped out the bottom. Perfectly raw in the center like a Pittsburg rare. Alexander’s friends seemed to like their steak cooked black-and-blue as well. After a few large bites, we were all in agreement that Savenor’s steaks tasted just as good on a cold February evening as it tasted on a blistery hot August afternoon.
On my second glass of red wine, I listened to Pablo share reverential musings of family members who’d influenced him. Cradled by Verdi, the conversation moved along on its own, topics changing without any of us noticing. Overweening egos were gone, the din swelling to a steady chorus. A never-ending stock of stale jokes followed. Since we were stuck between the winter solstice and the vernal equinox, this was the perfect time of the year for corny groundhog jokes. Michael went as far as provoking William with a bugger’s grips quote, only to get his ass handed to him by Pablo.
