Captain of Industry

by Karin Kallmaker

  Jennifer let out a shaky breath. “Context is everything.”

  “Is this an okay context to remind you that you’re beautiful? Like this?” A fingertip slid over the front of Jennifer’s panties.

  The hungry look in Suzanne’s eyes sent flames across Jennifer’s body. She was swollen with heat all in an instant.

  Suzanne settled back on the bed, pulling Jennifer on top of her. As her skirt rode up to her waist and legs spread over Suzanne’s hips, Jennifer looked down into Suzanne’s face. “I think you know the answer.”

  “I do. But I love hearing you say yes.”

  Jennifer said yes, then yes again. Suzanne found the way inside her with her voice, her knowing eyes, with her sensitive fingers.

  The amber glow of sunset had deepened to an inky topaz when Suzanne asked, “Why do you still have your shoes on?”

  “I think you like it.”

  “I do. But only if you do too.” Suzanne nuzzled the inside of one breast.

  “I like that you like it. You changed your hair.” Jennifer had admired the old Clooney bad boy cut, but the faux hawk was equally handsome. Now it was mussed and even spikier from Jennifer’s fingers.

  “Annemarie is my fashion consultant.”

  “She has a lot of style. She also doesn’t like me much.”

  “She’s not overly fond of people in general.”

  Jennifer resisted the urge to fall asleep. Their time was too short for naps. It was clear to her now that there would be no repeat at Suzanne’s house. This place was lovely but there were no framed snapshots of family on the table. No faded, battered cushions on the sofa. The house in Santa Cruz had been Jennifer’s first real glimpse behind the super smart business woman. She’d been charmed by the wind-scrubbed table and open jar of jam, with the English muffins going stale in the cold breeze. The crumbs swept into the grass, then a long, deep breath to capture the morning air. All of it was a Suzanne Jennifer had only glimpsed during their night of Legos.

  Like the loft had been in New York, this cabin was almost like a movie set, designed to create a mood, but not meant for breathing or living. A space for temporary moments and feelings. The mood was certainly fun, but she had wanted…expected something different. A something she would not name, certainly when it seemed unlikely to happen.

  Her stomach growled in Suzanne’s ear. Laughing, Suzanne pulled her up. “Off with the shoes. Do you need a pair of my socks for slippers?”

  “I have some.” Jennifer kicked off the Manolos and got to her feet. The thick carpet felt wonderful. “And pajamas. It’ll be warmer.”

  “I’ll light the fire. Unless you’d like to take a shower to warm up?”

  “Later.” Jennifer said it as a promise. “After hot tub and…more exercise.”

  She found her hotel nighttime survival gear—lightweight pajama pants and a super soft cotton T-shirt. A long chenille cardigan served as a robe, and she truly never did leave for a trip without her shearling slippers. Being warm enough was always her challenge in any hotel as she often finished a day’s work half-frozen.

  The gas-powered fire logs were doing their best to crackle merrily, and the living room was warming up. Suzanne greeted her with an appreciative kiss and then popped a cube of delectably soft, aromatic cheese into her mouth. “Can’t have you fainting.”

  “Thank you.” She melted into a hug, liking the careless rumple in Suzanne’s soft Batwoman T-shirt and brushed cotton drawstring pants. They, at least, seemed like a genuine piece of Suzanne.

  “You look comfortable.”

  “I am, at last. A girl can’t do designer 24/7. At some point, you have to go with some relaxed cotton. You may find this disappointing, but I only wear a negligee if someone is paying me and it’s for a camera. I guess I’ll always be a little bit of the girl from King of Prussia—I can’t sleep in something that costs hundreds of dollars. It’s nerve-wracking enough walking around in it.”

  They created a nest in front of the fire using oversized cushions from the couch braced against the solid oak coffee table. Jennifer set her slippers aside and wiggled her toes as close to the heat as she could bear. Warm at last.

  In answer to Suzanne’s question, she said, “I hadn’t really understood why it was called prairie dogging until everyone’s heads started popping up and down over the partitions.”

  “Not to burst your bubble, but they do that for anyone delivering food.” Suzanne spread the soft cheese on a cracker and passed it to Jennifer.

  Jennifer thought the cheese was just about the most delicious thing ever. She handed over the container of carrot sticks. “Next time I’ll bring pizza.”

  “You’ll start a riot. When will you hear about the part?”

  “Soon, I hope. The production company specializes in short filming schedules. They’re the same group that produced Royal Candide. The busy big names can fit a five-week art-film type project in between their six-month blockbuster shoots.”

  “Any big names in this one?”

  “They wouldn’t say, though someone made an offhand reference to ‘the superhero guy’ which means somebody with a high profile. I hope so. But it’s a good part, finally. Not just a one-note bubblehead princess to be rescued like in the one I’m doing all the media interviews for.”

  “I saw it over the weekend,” Suzanne admitted.

  Jennifer swatted her. “Get out. You did not go see it.”

  “I did. I figured I should know. It was entertaining. You were, of course, excellent. And you got to do more than be a model on film. And then last night I saw you in an ad clip—coming up at eleven, an exclusive interview with Princess Neowa—whatever it is.”

  She popped an olive into her mouth and took a moment to savor the salty bitterness. “You can spell it any way you like, but it’s always pronounced Helpless-with-Boobs. Not even the love interest, just the dead woman who makes the hero all manly.”

  “I’m glad there’s something different on the horizon for you.”

  Jennifer found only sincerity in Suzanne’s eyes. “Unless I get the Ryan Productions part it’ll be more of the same. I’m working on my fencing again. Basil Rathbone went far just being good with a blade.”

  “Are you good?”

  Jennifer lifted an eyebrow. “Not good enough for competition, but if I were Zorro they wouldn’t need a prop guy to carve the Z.” She demonstrated an economical flick of the wrist.

  “What about archery? Very popular for the ladies these days.” Suzanne tore off another piece of the herb-scented chicken and offered it to Jennifer.

  She finished that piece and started another before answering. “I tried archery, but I have two, ahem, big impediments. Costume designers won’t want to include the kind of chest protector I need. The first time the bowstring hit Shirley I decided it was not worth it.”

  “Shirley?”

  “Laverne on the left, Shirley on the right.” Jennifer pointed. “You called them kit and caboodle, remember?”

  “I remember.” Suzanne snorted into her wine. “I didn’t think you would. By any other name—”

  “They’d be in the way. I have a love-hate relationship with them. They open doors, but not always the right kinds of doors.”

  “What do you do when that happens?” Suzanne was regarding her thoughtfully.

  “I try not to enter. But then again any door is better than no doors. I do not plan to end up selling real estate or hawking clothes on some shopping network.”

  “I really don’t think you have to worry about that.”

  “I wish I was as certain as you are.” She let Suzanne pull her closer. “I feel sinful, just doing nothing. I have a condo now, in SoHo, and I don’t spend much time in it. This feels wonderful.”

  “Are you traveling a lot?”

  “A model’s life is about being seen and not just at paying gigs. Do you get as much time on the beach as you want?” She tried not to sound as if she wished that’s where they were. Why couldn’t she be happy with what
Suzanne had planned?

  “Never enough. I don’t travel, I’m sure, the way you do. But I head for places sometimes for a couple of weeks because it takes time to get to know people and places and be sure they’re the right kind of partnership. I like Tokyo a lot.”

  “So do I. Auber-Marche did a full shoot last year at the Kanda Myojin Shrine. I got my latest Blackberry blessed. So far so good.”

  Suzanne laughed. “I went there too. I still couldn’t get reception for my iPhone, but I’m not sure that’s something they could fix.”

  Jennifer rubbed her cheek on Suzanne’s shoulder before resting her head in the crook of her neck. “What’s exciting you right now?”

  “Seriously? You have to ask?”

  She drew Suzanne’s arm around her waist. “In business I mean. We’ll get to the other thing later.”

  “Let’s see. I spent a chunk of last month meeting on and off with the guy who is changing the way everyone uses power. Inside small relays, city-wide power grids, everything to do with energy. We want to pull in some of the gurus of renewables, offer funding and see what happens. It’ll be exciting.”

  The rumble of Suzanne’s voice through her chest was soothing. “This is going to seem like a stupid question.”

  She felt Suzanne kiss the top of her head. “Ask away.”

  “So you’re working on some kind of invention? I’m not sure exactly what you do. What CommonTech does.”

  “Some of what I do is hands-on. For example, I and six other people have a joint patent on a type of jump drive.”

  “I don’t know what that is.”

  “You will. Anyway, most of my time isn’t doing that, though I love when something comes along and I can use that part of my brain. Mostly someone comes to us with their idea and we find the capital and partners.”

  “Oh.” Jennifer stretched back to give Suzanne a look a comprehension. “You’re a venture capitalist.”

  Suzanne nodded. “Specializing purely in technical innovation.”

  “Every time I saw your name it was related to something about a new gadget or something like that.”

  “That’s pretty much the only time the media cares.”

  She settled back into Suzanne’s embrace. “Now I understand why the office seemed sort of formal. But not quite.”

  “You only saw one of four floors. Lawyers, HR people, fund managers, the works. We pick more winners than losers, and even the losing propositions have elements of success in terms of what everyone learns along the way. Like a new methodology for digital rights management that didn’t work from almost the beginning. The woman behind it came back six months later with a completely different paradigm. It takes failure to succeed.”

  Jennifer wiggled around to kiss Suzanne’s neck. “Is this the right context to tell you I think you’re really smart?”

  “Sure.”

  “How about now?” She brushed a fingertip over the nipple outlined under Suzanne’s T-shirt.

  “You’re going to give me crazy ideas.”

  “Seems like we have a paradigm to explore.” The nipple grew more noticeable.

  “You and your sexy talk.”

  Jennifer smiled into a long kiss.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The cool morning air, infused with a tang of pine, awakened Jennifer with a hunger that seemed quite mutual—first for each other, then for the rest of the contents of the picnic basket. Sated, they opted for a peaceful walk on the tree-lined trail behind the cabin and discovered a vista overlooking rolling hills with row after row of grapevines. To Jennifer they were a little bit sad, stripped of fruit and leaves going brown. A winding road in the distance was deserted but for a pickup headed toward the outlying buildings of Napa’s small town center.

  “We’re going to have to go in search of lunch, I’m afraid.” Jennifer looked up from shaking a dirt clod out of her running shoes. Suzanne had seemed surprised that she owned practical footwear. It wasn’t as if she wore Manolo Blahniks to the gym.

  “I’m not the celebrity you are, but I’ve been told that celebrities are left alone up here. I could loan you a hoodie that’s got Kermit on it.”

  “It’s not that. I like being alone with you. It’s very restful and pleasurable.” She leaned into Suzanne’s arm. They could have had the same experience at Suzanne’s little house on the ocean, but there seemed no point in saying so. In the cooler light of morning, it seemed clear that this was a tryst, nothing more. All Suzanne wanted from her was the thing they seemed to be best at together. “Thank you.”

  “Like I said, there’s a great brew pub.”

  “Do you come up this way often?”

  “Not often. Business retreats. The occasional date, to be perfectly honest.”

  “You haven’t lived a monk’s life. Why would you?” She gave Suzanne an appreciative glance. The years had deepened the lines of humor around her eyes and mouth. Standing braced against the occasional puff of wind, she seemed equally rooted and yet coiled to leap into whatever a situation might require. Jennifer could feel the pull of that energy in her skin’s yearning to be closer.

  “I assume you haven’t either.” Suzanne’s gaze was fixed on the horizon.

  “A solitary monk? No. I go to a lot of parties, true. Things have changed since we met.” She wasn’t sure how much Suzanne really wanted to know. “Instead of wearing something a designer picked out that I have to return, I get a lot of free clothes and accessories and contract offers to reward me if I wear them. That means being seen and photographed in very public spaces. Fashion Week, Cannes, Newport Jazz. That’s in addition to runways and photo shoots. I’m paid to be seen instead of hoping that being seen will turn into work. It’s all work. I’m rarely completely off someone’s clock, so thank you for this.”

  She slipped her hand into Suzanne’s. “When I do get free time I’m home reading entertainment scuttlebutt, watching a movie, at the gym or lessons, or practicing the beauty regimen called sleep.”

  It occurred to her that her new agent was right. The rhythm of the modeling life and the connections she made didn’t readily overlap with her acting ambitions. Even at someplace like Cannes, she was greeted as a model who made the scene fashionable and photogenic, not as an actress who belonged there. “When the parties start to wane—midnight or so—I’m usually tired. I keep a strict schedule for the gym in the mornings, most photo shoots start around ten if they’re local, and I will literally go to any audition at any time. I still do dance and diction lessons. Parties are a kind of dead end. I mean, so I spend time chatting with some group of people. If we click, I’m eligible to go their next party.”

  “Sounds like high school.”

  “It’s a lot like that. There’s the sophisticates who get all life and death over the wine and quail eggs. Seriously, what’s more pretentious? Insisting on quail eggs or thinking quail eggs are passé?”

  Suzanne laughed. “That’s a tough call.”

  “Anyway, people with regular jobs head for home and the later it gets the more the parties are about drinking and drugs and casual sex. That’s the happy place for a lot of people who get the gossip headlines, and it’s all they want from life. I tried it exactly twice.”

  “And?” Suzanne didn’t seem shocked.

  “It was exhausting.” She laughed in recollection. “The second time I realized that everyone was high because if they weren’t they’d realize they were surrounded by a bunch of drunk, stoned people. Then I remembered all the times my dad got home from work already blitzed. Had a long talk with Lauren Bacall when I got home and it’s not something I need or have to do.”

  Suzanne gave her a sideways look and pretended to sidle away. “Lauren Bacall talks to you?”

  “The poster, remember? I still have it. We talk. All my favorite quotes are written on the back where my mom couldn’t find them and make fun of me.”

  Suzanne squeezed her hand. “I confess—I talk to Nikola Tesla.” Jennifer’s blink must have given her a
way because Suzanne continued, “An inventor, visionary. Came up with more breakthroughs than Edison, but lost the marketing campaign until recently.”

  “Oh, the guy that car company is named after?”

  “You win Double Jeopardy.”

  She bumped Suzanne’s shoulder. “But I forgot to phrase it in the form of a question.”

  Suzanne laughed and passed her the bottle of water she’d carried.

  As she took a refreshing swallow, Jennifer thought of several of the young models who had just gotten to the popular stage only to disappear into the entourage of some hard-living rock group. “People get lost in the party life. Women especially get chewed up by it. It shows—there are girls my age who party hard and look like leather put through the rinse cycle and dried in a microwave. I don’t like being just another body for whomever is dispensing the night’s treats. I don’t like being just another body regardless.”

  “It’s not why you’re there.”

  “No.” But it was looking more and more like that’s why she was here. This was just another tryst for Suzanne. Meanwhile, Jennifer found the bare vines vaguely depressing. But they would bloom again. Enough water and sun and every year, the grapes would turn into something beautiful.

  Whenever she was between parts she felt just like the vines, she realized. Fallow, and for her, without a guarantee of another turn in the sun. All the party lights and camera flashes didn’t warm her. Most of the time she felt alone in crowds. But when she was on a set, creating something out of a team of other talented people, producing something they made together—that exquisite energy was what made her own lights shine.

  Actresses can do modeling on the side, Jennifer thought. But models aren’t hired to act, they’re hired to be a voiceless body. The two nights with Suzanne had been the first in ages where she hadn’t fallen asleep picking at the problem of how to finally transform herself from one to the other. “I am still hoping I don’t have to do the party life, and trade my health to get acting jobs.”

  Suzanne touched her shoulder. “You never have to do what you don’t want to do.”