Control

by Laura Marie Altom

  The closer I came to shooting my load, the faster she worked. The cloth napkin bunched against my hypersensitive tip and damn near had me shoving the plates from the table to do her on the wood surface.

  The table alongside us celebrated a birthday and a half-dozen servers surrounded a perfect family unit to deliver their best wishes in song. Mom, Dad, Grandma and Grandpa. Aunts and uncles and bouncing little kids all sang along.

  The table in front of us held double daters. They laughed over a shared joke, raising their wineglasses, toasting with clinks my heightened senses read as shattering glass.

  A cheesy Italian love song boomed over hidden speakers. If I’d had a shotgun, I’d have blown them to pieces. I needed silence to process the gravity of what was going down.

  With her free hand, my clever little kitten took a fresh breadstick from the basket, dunking it in dressing, then wrapping her lips around it in a slow and deliberate and downright cruel imitation of her under-table sin.

  Her smile was all it took for me to blow.

  She simultaneously took a bite of my lasagna while catching my load in the napkin, meticulously wiping me down, tucking my cock back into my boxers, then zipping my fly. She wadded the napkin, clutching it in her hand, then kissed me hard enough on my lips to swell my cock all over again. “Be right back.”

  38

  Ella

  In the restroom, I trembled as if my entire body straddled a violent fault.

  I threw the napkin in the trash.

  Washed my hands.

  Dried them.

  Then locked myself in the end handicap stall and fell apart. I cried silently, only not because I was in pain, but because what just happened had been a rush. It had been reckless and out of character and had made me feel more alive than I had in literally years—maybe since my first boyfriend fingered me in the backseat of his car. And the funny thing was, the act of giving Liam pleasure had brought me pleasure. Made me feel in control of a life that had grown increasingly out of sync. When I’d leaned down and found his erection, I’d taken the bulge as a gift. A tangible sign that he not only liked me, but liked me so much that what he didn’t express in words, his body said for him.

  I breathed in and out, forcing air into my lungs, sanity back to my head.

  My power felt beautiful. As if I’d slipped on a cloak of such exquisite light and grace that if I saw myself in the mirror, I would emit an angel’s glow. I smiled in this secret, stunning knowledge. Even giggled, covering my mouth with my hands.

  I left the stall, washed my hands again.

  And then looked in the mirror.

  Reality didn’t at all match the stunning image of myself I carried in my heart and head.

  My ponytail hung askew and with no makeup, my face loomed pale, so pale, with huge eyes that looked out of proportion and haunted and lost. Who was this ugly girl? Why didn’t she match the beauty I’d felt inside?

  The door exploded and three laughing teens fell through.

  They stared at me, in my ragged jeans and sneakers and T-shirt.

  In that moment, I saw myself as they did—as Liam did—and I wanted to break free. I wanted to once again be the pretty girl. The popular girl. The girl boys chased and who’d chased them back. I wanted to not just be alive, but on fire. But to do that, I needed help. And I ducked my head, hiding my face, my shame, from these strangers who didn’t know me well enough to judge me, to know what I’d been through. I’d earned my crumpled outer shell. But I’d also earned the butterfly emerging. And like my Frisbee, she wanted to soar.

  Back at our booth, my words to Liam flowed out in a rush. “Could you please pay the bill? I-I have to go. I need you and all your money to do me a huge favor.”

  39

  Liam

  My mind still didn’t feel capable of constructing complete thoughts, so it took me a few seconds to process Ella’s request.

  “Please,” she said with a quiet sense of urgency.

  “Sure. Let’s go.” I tossed a hundred on the ticket our waitress had left, and considering neither of our meals had been over fifteen bucks, I figured that should cover it.

  I pressed my hand to the small of her back, guiding her out of the crowded space. Outside, the air carried a damp promise of rain. I welcomed it. I needed to be cleansed. I needed all of the man I used to be washed away. I needed to be worthy of the woman beside me.

  I ushered her to the car, opened her door and helped her inside.

  Once I sat behind the wheel alongside her, I angled on my seat to face her. “Name it. Whatever you need. You know I’ll make it happen.”

  She looked down at her lap where she’d clasped her hands on her thighs. “Remember how you told me you could bring a hairstylist to me?”

  “Of course. That’s what you want? Now?”

  She nodded. “And clothes. I have to get out of these clothes. I have to wear something that’s only been worn by me.”

  “Of course. I’ll call Carol, and she’ll have someone meet us at the house.”

  “What house? The one at the beach?”

  “The one ten minutes from here.” I leaned forward, kissing her forehead, because I was afraid to kiss her anywhere else for fear the spell might break. I wasn’t sure what had happened in that booth, but I’d liked it. Beyond the physical, I’d been privileged to witness a profound change in Ella that I didn’t entirely understand, but I was going with it. Whatever she wanted, I’d move heaven and earth to make it happen.

  “Oh.” She raised her flighty hands to brush hair back from her eyes. “I shouldn’t have asked. Getting a hairstylist out at this hour will cost you a fortune.”

  “Then you’re in luck.” I started the car before casting her what I hoped was a reassuring grin. “I just happen to have one.”

  We’d traveled a few miles in silence when she asked, “What about Carol?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I—I’ve seen pics with you and her in the paper. I assumed…”

  “Stop. She’s my PA. Those charity things lag on forever, so I bring her to squeeze in work between speeches.” I squeezed Ella’s hand. “Trust me, there’s only you.” There’s only ever been you.

  Rain started to fall. I turned on Debussy’s “Clair de lune” and backed out of the lot.

  Instead of calling Carol, at the next red light, I texted her. As I obviously knew nothing about women’s hairstylists or clothing designers, I let her handle it. She promised to have a team assembled and in my home within the hour.

  Ella leaned her head back, closing her eyes. “This is beautiful. How do you always seem to know what I need?”

  I did? Lately, I’d felt as if where she was concerned, I couldn’t have botched more. “I like it. Thought you might, too.”

  Her sideways smile took my breath away. “I do.”

  I took the liberty of easing my fingers between hers, and I held her hand the rest of the way home, every so often stroking her palm with my thumb. Whatever was happening between us felt good and pure and so terribly important.

  I pressed the remote for the driveway’s gate. When it opened, I took my time on the winding blacktop. I’d used the same landscape designer for this place as I had with the beach, so it had a similar vibe, but more manicured. The house was modern. Stark and white, with intersecting rectangles that sat nestled into the expansive lawn’s gently rolling hills. The house proper appeared to float on a river rock–bottomed koi pond. A bridge was the only way to get to the front door. Outdoor lighting made the place look like a pricey resort. I drove around to the back, where the garage door opened upon sensing my car.

  I’d been expecting Ella to say something, but she just stared. Was she turned off by the house’s setting or size? Not a fan of modern?

  I turned off the engine, and the garage door closed. I got out and rounded the car to open her door, but she’d already done it herself.

  “What’re you thinking?” I asked on our walk to the mudroom door.

&n
bsp; “About how different we are. And why you even like me when you could have literally any woman in the world.”

  “You want specifics?”

  Hugging herself, she was no longer looking at me, but wandering down the short hall that led into the kitchen, which in turn opened onto a common area with its twenty-foot ceiling and walls of glass. This was the house I stayed in when my schedule was too full to allow me an escape. Everything was white. White leather sofa and onyx fireplace and whitewashed maple floors. I found the color calming. “Who lives like this? Seriously?”

  I trailed behind her, setting my keys and wallet on the kitchen counter. “I’ve never thought about it. Guess the white unclutters my mind.” Only with her here, the home’s blank canvas showcased her haunting blue eyes. In place of my usual inner void, possibilities grew into a garden as wild as her hair. “And to answer your earlier question…” I approached her slowly, as if she were suddenly a shy kitten. My shy kitten. “I want you because you’re the first outside person I’ve found since starting this whole crazy ride who’s real. You don’t see me as a walking wallet, but as me. You have no idea what a relief that is.”

  She turned her head, resting her chin on her raised shoulder. She didn’t smile, or even visibly breathe. She just was. Like a statue carved of flesh. What I wouldn’t give to see her standing in the exact pose naked.

  I dared step closer. “You make me feel curious again—as if I don’t have all the answers.”

  “Awfully egotistical to have ever presumed you did.”

  “True.” I stood close enough now to see the constellation of faint freckles fanned across her nose, and the way she held her full lips expectantly parted. Could she crave kissing me as badly as I craved kissing her?

  I closed those last few inches to press my lips to hers. Soft. On the surface, no big deal.

  My racing pulse told another story.

  She shivered. “Build me a fire?”

  “Sure.” Only my fire for her was already stoked.

  “This place is too perfect. It makes me feel trapped in a top-secret lab’s safe room.”

  Her perfect analogy made me smile. “Been in too many?”

  “Seen one or two in movies.”

  I knelt in front of the hearth. The perfect blend of kindling and wood, along with a fuel-soaked starter log, had already been laid. Producing flames was as simple as lighting a match from the silver box nestled alongside the fire-tool rack.

  “Do you need to feel safe?”

  “Sometimes. But don’t we all?”

  She shocked the hell out of me by charging forward, wrapping her arms around me and pressing her cheek to my chest. “You make me feel safe. But scared, too. Being with you doesn’t seem real. But like I’m locked in a padded cell and our time spent together is only a dream. And if I open my eyes, all of it will vanish.”

  The fire started to take.

  Heat pressed heavily against my right side, melding us together until I couldn’t tell where she left off and I began.

  “Don’t be afraid,” I said. Emotions balled in my stomach and throat, making my voice hoarse. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “But you did. And how many times have you told me you don’t do commitment?”

  “I don’t. But is that what you want?”

  She shook her head. “I just want to know that if I close my eyes you won’t be gone.”

  40

  Ella

  “With your bone structure,” Mimi, my hair artist, said, “how about we leave most of your length? I’ll cut in a few layers, texturize the ends, and give you a deep root conditioner that’ll leave your hair so lush your man won’t be able to keep his hands out of it.”

  Promise? I nodded. “Yes. That sounds good.”

  I sat in one of the kitchen table chairs that Liam had carried into the guest suite’s enormous bathroom. Draped in a huge black cape with Fab! written in hot pink cursive across the front, my eyes looked huge.

  Carol had brought over Mimi to do my hair while Rocco, a very gay, impeccably dressed, a-little-tipsy stylist wheeled in rack after rack of clothes.

  “Carol.” Mimi held up a plastic hair-washing tray. “Help me get our girl turned around so I can get her locks squeaky clean.”

  While the two women set up a hair-washing station, I stood gawking at the production, wondering if now was the time to leave. But before I’d formulated my escape, Carol returned me to my chair, then leaned my head back.

  “Does this angle hurt your neck?” Mimi asked.

  “No…”

  “Great.” The woman talked nonstop about everything from the time Cameron Diaz had flown her to Hawaii for a bang trim to how many orgasms her boyfriend had brought her to the previous night.

  Every so often, after my chair had been turned back around and Mimi had begun cutting, Liam wandered in to check my progress. We’d make eye contact in the mirror and share smiles, as if silently asking each other, Is this woman for real?

  But then in his world, I was learning that virtually anything I could imagine could be real. The real question was, just how far did that fact extend to the two of us?

  When Mimi finished, then did my makeup, I didn’t recognize the woman staring back at me in the mirror. I could have been anyone. A teacher, lawyer or movie star. I no longer looked dead, but vibrant and alive and not at all myself…

  But then who was this new hybrid being I had become? I no longer identified myself as my parents’ daughter or Blaine’s wife or a Wal-Mart snack bar clerk. But I also hadn’t been with Yvonne long enough to feel fully part of her shop’s small family. In regard to Nathan, I considered us good friends, but he wanted more. Then there was Liam. Where did I begin in defining the chemistry the two of us shared?

  “Girl…” Rocco had wandered in. “You are stunning. Like I mean…” Hands on his hips, he shook his head. “Daaaamn.”

  “Thanks.” I think. I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. I mean, I’d looked nice the night Willow and I had dressed up for Halloween, but this was different. What Mimi had done with my hair and makeup had elevated me to a place I’d never before been. Who was this person? How did she carry herself or speak or fill her days?

  “All right, Cinderella, let’s get you out of those rags and into your hot new jam.” Rocco narrowed his eyes while appraising me. “Ladies,” he said to Carol and Mimi, “help me out. With her old hair, our girl was totally rocking heroin chic, but now, I’m kind of grooving on a hippie chic.” He searched a rack of jeans, then tugged out a heavily embroidered pair with faded denim. “Couldn’t you just die for these Guccis with a silk tank or chunky sweater?”

  “They’re everything,” Mimi said.

  “Ridiculous in such a great way,” Carol said.

  I asked, “Are they expensive?” I might have grown up in Tennessee, but even I knew anything with the name Gucci didn’t come cheap.

  All three looked at me as if I’d announced Donatella Versace had designed a line for K-Mart.

  “I’m pretending you didn’t ask that.” Carol took the jeans, thrust them at me, then said, “Try them on.”

  “Here?” My self-conscious streak kicked in. I might only be trying on jeans right now, but what happened when this crew wanted to see a dress or blouse? The last thing I wanted was for these people to discover my scars. “Maybe my old clothes will be fine.”

  “No, they won’t. I’m burning them. If you’re feeling shy, dress in the closet.” He pointed toward a closed door.

  I took the jeans from Carol, then headed in that direction.

  The closet was more like its own room, with a center island and a seating area with posh white armchairs and a mirrored side table and lamp. There were drawers and racks and shelves—all empty. A cheval mirror stood in a corner, and presiding over all blazed a clear acrylic chandelier.

  I shimmied out of my current jeans, letting them pool on the wood floor.

  As fast as possible, I pulled on the new jeans. They fit to a freakish
degree of perfection and were so soft, I might have been wearing pajamas. I couldn’t help but smile while checking out my ass from all directions.

  “You alive in there?” Rocco beat on the door.

  I opened it, shyly asking, “What do you think?”

  “Bam!” He held out three sweaters and a poet blouse. “Try those, then I’ve got long skirts and dresses and vests. And boots—you’ve got to have dozens of boots.”

  “This time of year, it’s all about the boots,” Mimi assured me.

  “Totally,” Carol said.

  “This is all beyond pretty,” I said, “but shouldn’t I be fancy?” When I bowed my head, my hair fell forward, framing my face in softness. I dared look at Carol, who wore a navy suit and pumps. “I mean, if I’m going to be around Liam, shouldn’t I look more like you?”

  “Sweetie…” Carol crossed to me, giving my hair a playful tug. “You don’t have a clue how fresh and original you are. If anything, you’re going to make Liam change to match you.”

  I couldn’t imagine that, but I wanted to…

  Her kind words reinforced what Liam had said about the two of them sharing a strictly professional bond.

  The next hour passed in a dizzying whirl of vintage lace and knitted wool and leather and suede and more boots and shoes than I could wear every day for a year. Through it all, I wondered about Liam. Where was he? Why wasn’t he here, sharing in my fun?

  Two hours later, I’d tried everything Rocco had brought, and ended up keeping enough clothes to fill half of one of the closet’s enormous racks. The scent was intoxicating. Like being back in my once-favorite Memphis Dillard’s. I’d forgotten how much I loved clothes. How good silk felt against my skin. The only thing missing from this momentous occasion had been Liam. What had happened to him? Wasn’t he curious about my transformation? Or had he already grown bored? The thought sickened my stomach. But it couldn’t be true. Not after he’d told me he wasn’t going anywhere.

  To find him, I chose to wear my favorite of all my new outfits. A long-skirted, earthy-toned dress with a fringed suede vest. Rocco had even thought to bring jewelry. I added three strands of polished stone necklaces, leaving my ears bare and my hair long and wavy. I loved the way it framed my face and how my makeup wasn’t caked on, but bare enough to still show my freckles. I tugged on thick, comfy socks and then one of my new pair of brown leather boots. I finished the look with a low-riding turquoise concho belt.