Struck By Lightning: Slow Satisfaction Part 14

"She is rather dominatrix-like." I tore open another granola bar. Thanks, Mom. "Who was the first person you actually did it with, though? I mean took it from fantasy to reality."

"Do you want to hear about how I lost my virginity?"

"Absolutely!"

He picked up the ballpoint pen from beside the phone and twirled it as he spoke. "I was in a school drama club, which led to me and one of the other students having some private rehearsals, shall we say. Improvisational acting is a typical exercise. We agreed to try an interrogation scene and see where it went. It went... all the way."

He looked at me, set the pen aside, and crawled over to me, then on top of me to kiss me. "Fantasies are wonderful. But reality is even better. At least with you."

"Mmm. I feel the same way."

He settled beside me, and we soaked up each other's warmth while the hotel AC droned in the background.

"That was just the warm-up question, you know," I said. "Like how the s.e.x in the car was the warm-up for what we did on the roof."

"Aha, that makes perfect sense. What else would you like to know?"

"You've told me a little about your mother, but almost nothing about your father. You've barely mentioned him."

James nodded. "I note you've barely mentioned yours, either. Though I doubt we've the same reasons. To this day, I'm not sure who my father was."

"Really?"

"Truly. My mother had various lovers during my childhood, mostly high-ranking British officials of one sort or another. When I was born she was living in New York, where she was known for entertaining sundry ex-pats, amba.s.sadors, and the like. I am under the impression now that she had been a kept woman, and although the affair had ended, to keep her quiet, whoever it was continued to pay for the apartment."

"You think that was your father?" I sat up so I could see his face.

"I don't know." The expression on his face had nothing to do with his father and everything to do with the fact that he was looking at me adoringly. "When I was about ten, though, we moved back to England, and she's there still."

"You get very British-sounding whenever you talk about her."

"As well I might. She would spank me if she heard an American accent coming out of my mouth."

"No!"

"Yes." He cracked a mischievous smile. "So I learned to speak British English at home and in front of her high-ranking guests, and American English with everyone else."

"Did you go to public school in New York?"

"Goodness, no. It was private academies all the way." Now his gaze drifted toward the wall, though I don't think he was seeing it at all. "And I went to boarding school in England."

"Who's your best guess for who your father was?"

"Well, the man who tried the hardest to act like one moved in when I was about three. I think merely by dint of the fact that he moved in, he felt that made him the man of the house. He was an actor of some repute. I, being a holy terror at that age, thought that I was the man of the house, and refused to submit to his authority. Then again, my mother forbade him to spank me, and now that I think about it, she didn't submit to his authority either." A sly smile spread across his face. "In fact, I'm quite certain, thinking back on it now, that if there was anyone doing any submitting, it was him to her. How does the expression go? The acorn doesn't fall far from the oak?"

I shared his smile. "Do you think she ever went to any of those society parties?"

"If she did, it was only as a guest," he said. "Not as a member. The thought did cross my mind and I had them check. Although there are those rare few who feel comfortable flaunting their s.e.xuality in front of their parents... I'm not one of them."

That provoked a snort of laughter from me. "Don't you kind of flaunt your s.e.xuality in front of everyone, though? I've seen some of your videos."

Now he looked at me, his full attention focusing on me. "That's one of the reasons for the mask," he said quietly.

"Your mother doesn't know...?"

"No. She knows about the gla.s.s art, but she doesn't know about my music career." He stood and got a bottle of water, then sat down on the bed to share it with me.

I liked that. Sharing a bottle of water felt perfectly comfortable with him, like the most natural thing in the world.

After I'd had a sip, I said, "No wonder you don't want to take Ferrara to court."

"Yes. My name, and my face, would be everywhere. There would be no way to walk through a shopping mall like a normal person. Much less anything..." Rather than finish his sentence, he trailed his hand up the inside of my leg suggestively.

"I see your point." It was probably easier to keep things a secret from his mother when they had the Atlantic Ocean between them. But Lord Lightning fanatics were everywhere. "Your mother sounds a bit like the woman my mother wished she could have been."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, my mother always wanted to be a kept woman, I think. Or at least she thought she did." I wasn't so sure the experience with Phil Betancourt hadn't changed that. "But she never quite got what she wanted. Not even in her children."

"No?"

"She wanted a daughter just like her and she didn't get one. She got a butch lesbian and me. The only reason I wasn't considered a tomboy was that Jill was more of one. By comparison, I was girly. But I never liked pretty dresses. I never liked fussing with my hair and makeup. And I never liked flirting or dating, which was a constant source of angst for my mother when I was growing up."

"But you do like pretty dresses." He ran his fingers through my damp hair. "I think you didn't like being forced to like them."

"Well, okay, yeah. I didn't like the pressure to be a certain way, act a certain way, and it wasn't until recently I clued in that my discomfort was all about men. Like the only reason to look nice was to attract someone of the male species."

"Male isn't a species," he pointed out. "But I do know what you mean."

"And the thing was, dressing like that does attract male attention, but not usually from anyone I wanted! I mean, why should I be flirty and cute for the guy in the checkout line or at the gas station, you know? I felt like that attracted creeps."

"Do you like the kind of attention you get from me?"

"Yes. And like I said, I discovered I like things from you I didn't particularly like from Damon or any other man. But anyway, that's how my mother operates. For her, it's still all about getting a guy. She's good-looking for a woman in her late fifties, but you know, her relentless need to be with someone is what made her vulnerable to this Betancourt character."

"Karina, may I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"You've never said much about your father, either."

"That isn't a question and there isn't much to say about him, since he left when I was so young. Jill remembers him better."

He chuckled lightly. "I'm not that interested in knowing what he was really like. I'd rather know what you think, and how you feel about him."

"Oh. Well." I had mostly vague impressions of my father. I remembered photographs of him better than I recalled his actual face now. "My mother never talked about him. He was away a lot when I was a kid. For work."

"What did he do?"

"He was some kind of a project manager for a huge construction firm. He was part of a sales and oversight team that would pitch and sell the project and then also be on-site during the construction."

"Office buildings?"

"And hotels, and I remember him saying they were building a museum, once. It meant that when there was a project going on, he was away for weeks at a time, and when there wasn't a project going on, he was somewhere different every week, drumming up potential clients. We got totally used to him being gone. In fact, as far as we kids were concerned, it was kind of a pain when he was home because all the rules changed. And then one time he just didn't come home. I always wonder how long my mother knew before she told us. I've never asked. He was on a job in Houston that was going to take all winter, and we were talking about the family going there for Christmas, and then the next thing you know, my mother told us not only weren't we going, but he wasn't coming home. I think I didn't really believe it at first. He sent us presents and everything. And it took a while to sink in that she really meant he was never coming back."

"And there was no official divorce?"

"I don't think so. Wouldn't there have been alimony or something? I think they just cooked up their own terms and parted ways."

"You said he left your mother a chunk of money."

"Yeah. She never, ever told us what the deal was. All I know is we carried on pretty much like we had been for about five years. Then she got a job when Troy was in kindergarten. He has no memory of my father at all."

"What do you remember about him?"

"Impressions mostly. He didn't talk to us kids much, and Jill more than me. I have a sense-memory of him carrying me up the stairs to my room, and being scared and comforted at the same time, like he was impossibly tall, but impossibly strong." I closed my eyes. "I don't even know if he's still alive. He was never that big a part of my life. The biggest effect he had was, you know, that feeling at school or when meeting other kids, that I was different because they all had a mom and a dad, and I only had a mom."

"I know that feeling very well."

"I know you do." I rubbed my cheek against him. "I don't know that it actually affected me all that much. I mean, when you're a kid, whatever you have, that's your definition of normal. We seemed like a normal family to me. We were happy."

"Mmm-hmm." We lay there then listening to the AC hum for a while, until James said, "Let's get ready for bed."

We got up and took care of our usual things. After I brushed my teeth, though, I felt a moment of giddy excitement so intense I had to hold the edge of the sink.

"Are you all right?" He hovered beside me, concerned.

"I'm fine. Maybe I'm full of leftover adrenaline. Or maybe that's just how excited sleeping in the same bed with you makes me."

"Mmm-hmm. Excited enough that I question how much actual sleeping we're going to do."

He was right, of course. We slept several hours, but when I woke I had one hand between my own legs and the other on his erection and he was all too happy to pick up where my dream left off.

We slept through a large chunk of Pennsylvania in the car the next day.

As we neared the city, I texted Becky to let her know I would be arriving soon. "Thank goodness I saved up enough of my summer pay to get a little bit ahead with the rent," I said. "If it weren't for Becky, I'm not even sure I'd have an apartment to go back to right now."

James bit his lip.

"What?"

"Karina, I know you haven't asked me to pay your rent and I appreciate that," he said with a tiny smile, "but of course I will."

"Will you? I... I don't know how this relations.h.i.+p is supposed to work. How come I know exactly how s.e.x works with you but not any of the normal stuff?"

He grinned. "That's what we get for spending all our time working on s.e.x, trust, and love and never getting around to practical things." He held out his hand and I put mine into his. "Here. I'll try to say something practical. Money is no object when it comes to how much I care about you. I want you to be happy."

"And if I want to look for a job in the art world?"

"Then you'll need rent until you find something."

"So you're saying accept the rent like water and granola bars?"

"Perhaps. I'm whisking you off to Las Vegas in a few weeks anyway. It seems only fair I should help you with your housing situation. Do you like your apartment?"

"Well, the place is kind of small. I don't even have a bedroom: I live in the living room."

"I have an idea." He smiled one of those sunny smiles that lit up the car. "Did you like that loft where we ate the eclairs and drank champagne?"

"You mean the one upstairs from the gallery where we performed? It was nice, if a little underfurnished."

"I believe it's still available. What do you think about you and Becky moving there? There's plenty of room for you both, you'd still be close enough to the campus for her, and rent would not be a question at all."

"It wouldn't?"

"I own the building."

I laughed. "Of course you do. I'll suggest it to her and see what she says, all right?"

"All right." He bit his lip again.

"What? What are you not telling me this time, James?"

He squeezed my fingers gently. "I want us to be clear this time. Since you feel a bit sensitive about me trying to control everything in your life. Don't... don't feel as if you have to take the offer to live there. But I will point out one thing. If things with Ferrara blow up, and they very well might, everyone a.s.sociated with me could find themselves under unwelcome scrutiny. Moving there, you could effectively go off the grid. Get a P.O. box..."

I thought about it. "You know, I was a little freaked out when I heard Professor Renault had showed up at the apartment and ranted drunkenly at Becky." Maybe moving would be a good idea after all. "But, you know, why move me and Becky? It's awesome that you're offering to help her, too, but I'm surprised you didn't offer to put me up by myself."

He paused, choosing his words carefully. "One of the things your mother's abuser did was isolate her from her friends and support. I never want you to think that's what I'm doing, Karina. You know if you wanted a penthouse of your own on Central Park South, I would buy you one."

"Just goes to show I'm not much like your mother," I teased.

"Thank goodness for that," James said, and kissed me.

They left me off at the apartment. I had barely gotten the door open upstairs when Becky seized me in a huge hug.

"Oh, Rina, Rina! I've missed you so much!"

"Hey! I've missed you, too." I felt something soft against my leg. "Hey, even Milo missed me." Her cat looked up at me, then swiped my leg with his tail again.

Becky herself was looking good, her hair loose and fuller than I remembered, but maybe that was the result of spending the summer hanging around with the local Lord's Ladies, some of whom were hairdressers. She was wearing an oversized T-s.h.i.+rt like a dress, belted at the waist, and her feet were bare.

We dragged my stuff in from the hallway, and I immediately proceeded to unpack in the living room so I could dig out the souvenirs and gifts I'd brought her. Some of them were from me, some from Paul and Misha, and it took a while to extricate everything from my luggage.

By the time I was done, it was time for dinner, and we walked to a place in the neighborhood so we could keep catching up. She was working on her thesis, which she had changed to be about feminist themes in the Lord Lightning rock operas. So of course she squealed excitedly when I told her it looked like there was going to be a new production and that I might be in it.

"Oh my G.o.d, Karina, I can't believe it! I've been hearing the rumors about a new show but, wow!" She sang a few words from what I guessed was one of his songs, but that was when a waitress came to clear our dinner plates and Becky cut herself off, her cheeks reddening.

When our water gla.s.ses had been refilled, she went on in a quieter voice. "Does this have anything to do with what Paul and Misha told me? They said Ferrara Huntington showed up right before you left. The rumors about Bride of the Blue started because she leased that Vegas theater. It can't be a coincidence that she turned up in London where you and he were."