2 comments/ 6123 views/ 0 favorites The Pleasant Day By: AnonAndAnon One lucky person notices her at a light. He's in the left turn lane. In the back of the black car to his right, through its glass, through the crazy reflections of his car and the strip mall, beauty in the evening. Dark brown hair, a dimpled chin, a white shoulder. There's something about her expression, focused and intent, fearful and resigned, that grips him. The light turns and fate washes her away in the stream of cars. Another catches a glimpse of her on 495. He sits in the passenger seat. His head bobs to hip-hop. He glances over and as they overtake and pass, 75 beside 70, his eyes meet hers. Wide and dark, alone in the back seat of the black car. He can think of nothing sensible to say to his friend to get him to slow and so he's carried away. A last is struck by her while out walking his dog on a residential city street. The black car glides past. Its tires hiss on the wet pavement. She has an arm up and is pushing her brown hair back from an ear. His dog keeps its nose in the grass, but he! His wife finds him unexpectedly amorous a short time later. Someone truly lucky, and as there is none such, such a person must be imagined, would sit in the back seat beside her. He would watch as the rhythmic waves of light, a street light every hundred feet or so, disentangle her from the gloom. That truly lucky onlooker would see that she is naked. Both hands now nervously rest on bare thigh. The driver is the least lucky. He knows what sits behind but can't see. The GPS speaks and he follows its instruction and stops half way down a street of old elegant brownstones. Our imaginary onlooker finds that he is curious. As time means nothing to the imagination, he slides back and finds her an hour or so earlier in a restaurant with her boyfriend. She's ordered what she usually has there, spicy baby shrimp which she shares. Her boyfriend has a steak which he doesn't. They talk in an easy manner about the current IRS scandal. They talk about the "Game of Thrones" episode they watched the evening before. She: "I get so tired of that crazy 'have you guessed who I am yet' guy with his silly horn and his wicked blade. He makes me think of Harpo Marx, like I'm watching the Marx brothers do 'A Night with Jack the Ripper'." He: "You can't complain when there are dragons." She: "Yep, one can put up with a good bit when there're dragons." They talk about work. She's in the drafting group. He's one of the architects, not a partner but ambitious. He wants to set up on his own. She drinks more wine than she really wants. She knows that when she and her boyfriend get home, some of the things that will happen to her she'll like, most she will not. "That project I put the bid in for," he says to her, "You think I'll get it?" "Hope so. We worked hard enough on it. And I hope they don't find out at work that we've been moonlighting," she says. "They won't care so much about twenty houses. And what's this 'we' shit? It's my work." His phone buzzes and he calls for the check. As they walk out, she says, "My coat." It's quite chilly outside with a thin misty rain. He says, "I'll come back for it." She looks surprised and perplexed. The black car idles just in front of the restaurant's front doors. It's double parked behind the handicapped spots. He opens the back door and helps her in. He slides in beside her. "Your purse," he says. He reaches and separates it from her surprised fingers. "Your sandals," he says. She wears them because he likes them. She put them on in her cube, just before they left work. She refuses to wear such things about the office. A black strap at the ankle. Just a strap over the toes. Heels much higher than she likes. Cold and wet when she walked with him from the office to his car. Cold and wet when they walked from his car to the restaurant. Cold and wet across the short distance to the black car. Feeling stunned, she looks at him a moment. Her eyes are wide and expressive. "Your sandals, Ella" he repeats. She bends forward and fumbles with the straps in the dark. The carpeted mat on the car's floor feels rough on her feet. She hands the sandals to him. He watches her silently, waiting. After a moment she pulls her blouse from her belt, unbuttons it and shrugs out of it. She undoes her bra. She undoes her belt and unzips her skirt at the side. She lifts herself and pulls her skirt and her slip and her panties hurriedly down her pale white thighs. She starts to stupidly fold her clothes but he takes them impatiently. He opens the car door and is out. She sees her bra drop onto the wet pavement. She opens her mouth to protest. "I'll be waiting for you there," he assures her. The door slams and the car flows into motion. She turns and watches the brightly lit restaurant with its jaunty Caribbean theme shrink. She sees her boyfriend walk across the glistening asphalt towards his car. She sees the white spec of her bra. The black car accelerates smoothly, like a river boat taken by the current. She can no longer see him. Her coat is still on its hook in the restaurant's entryway. Satisfied for the moment, our imaginary onlooker slides back to the present. The line of four and five story brownstones on either side of the street makes it seem the black car is parked in a dark canyon. The driver's luck turns for the better. He climbs out of the stopped car and opens the door for her. His luck is that she sits as if frozen by the wash of cold damp air. His luck is that he has a perfect moment to look down on her breasts, on her flat stomach, on her clean shaven sex all but hidden between her tightly closed thighs. To think about what she's sure to be doing soon. "Number 15," he tells her. "My God," she says. "Is it open?" "How should I know? Look I have to get going." "Check if it's open, please. Ring if it's not." "Lady, I have to get going." His luck is that he watches her climb from the car, white skin against black. He watches her rush across the wet brick sidewalk and up the marble steps to the large black wooden door. His luck holds as she tries the handle and then rings the bell. She looks desperately up and down the street. It is thankfully deserted except for the appreciative driver. His luck fails when the door clicks and with a relieved gasp she vanishes from view. With the door shut she breathes easier. In front of her is a spiraling hardwood staircase. To her right is the entrance way to a large high ceilinged space. It has a dark gleaming parquet floor. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling. Oriental carpets lie under the furniture: a desk by a bay window, a statue of a discus thrower, a couch and easy chairs in front of a hearth. Old flames dance in the fireplace, three logs over glowing coals. Two men stand by the fire. One shorter, gray and balding. The other taller with brown neatly cut hair. She takes a deep breath and steps towards them. They watch her. One has an amber colored drink in his hand, the other reaches and takes his from the mantel. She feels she is floating, somehow isolated from the room in a bubble of vacuum. She stops before them. She feels the wool of the rug. It has a pale pattern of deer being hunted. The fire is welcomely hot. The contrast causes her to shiver. "Hold your arms out and turn," the taller of the two instructs her. She does and stops when she faces them again. The shorter of the two says, "Pay up, Charles." And when he's accepted a twenty, he grins and says, "I'm off. My wife expects me back by 10." She watches the shorter man finish his drink, nod to her, and then walk out of the room. She hears the front door open and shut. "You are not happy in your choice of partner," the tall man observes dryly after a moment. She feels this is unfair. "I didn't choose between you," she says. He smiles, "I meant Tod, he's your boyfriend?" After a moment she manages, "What, what is the arrangement?" "None really," he says. "My parents own some land in New Hampshire which we plan to develop. Tod has submitted a proposal. It's a very attractive plan. You know about this?" he asks when he sees her expression change. "Yes, I helped with it." "He would say you are helping this minute," he comments with the same dry smile. "I must choose," he goes on, "Between him, well the pair of you? and other more established, well known architects. We had lunch and when I was explaining myself, he placed your picture, quite a nice one of you in a yellow dress in front of a blooming magnolia tree, on the table. You know it? The picture not the table, of course." She nods. Her boyfriend'd taken the photo in a cemetery close to his apartment in the spring one Sunday shortly after she'd moved in with him. She'd seen it in his camera and'd hoped he'd print it and put it on his desk at work or in his wallet. He hadn't. She'd not seen it since. "There were other pictures too. Nice in their way." He admired her a moment, "You blush very prettily. I told him I'd arrange a car and we agreed on the time and place." "I must say," he continues, "Watching you in the car," he waves at an IPad that rests on the coffee table, "Was very sweet. Watching you walk across the room, ah, that was the most beautiful thing I've seen in some time. "Where did you think you were being taken?" he asks, "Had Tod explained?" "No," she murmurs. "I thought not, well?" "There's a party at Jen and Darren's tonight. Tod's friends. They get a bit wild. Their parties. I thought at first I was to you know, well." She flushed, "I'd said I wouldn't go. So he was a bit put out. When we got on the highway, I thought the car would take me to a motel and Tod would be waiting for me. Then I just didn't know. I knew your name but not your address." "What's your name?" "Ella" "What do you think will happen to you now, Ella?" She looks down at the carpet, at its pattern of deer. She stands on one. The pale thing is frozen leaping wild eyed from a hound. He adds, "Tod suggested I send you back the way you came late Sunday afternoon." He likes the way she looks up at him, with almost the deer's desperate expression. After another moment of enjoyment, he sighs and says, "I'll get you a robe and something to drink?" He sees her relax a trifle and a bit of relief lightens her face. "That would be so great, the robe," she says, then, "I really had too much to drink at dinner, I wouldn't've, I don't think I would've otherwise, anyway" she collapses into incoherence. "Tea then? Coffee? A soda even?" "You know," she says with a little smile, "A soda would be great." "Coke?" When she manages, "OK", he continues, "Sit on the hearth, I'll be right back." Alone in the high ceilinged airy space she feels all the more exposed. She shrinks down onto marble in front of the fire. Its low dancing flames are hot on her back. He returns with the soda in a glass with ice. He has a blue fleece robe and one of his white undershirts in his other hand. She sighs with relief as she pulls the white t-shirt over her head. It reaches to mid thigh. She shrugs the robe on next. It proves to be a little small for her. When she sits on the couch it falls open, once again revealing her charms. She squirms and by sitting crosslegged manages to cover herself. She sees him watching her. "Silly, huh? You've seen everything there is." she says. Then she sips her soda and sighs again, "It's been years since I had a Coke in the evening. Not since my slumber party days." "What will you do about Tod's proposal?" she asks. "How much of it is your work?" She looks at the fire, thinking of what to say. "Little of the design beyond suggestions? I did the drafting and did the word processing." "What would your share be?" "We haven't talked about that, we're, well you know, together." He snorts. "You're a fool. Well, I'm still thinking about it." "If I pick your submission," he pauses looking at her, "If I pick your proposal, what will your involvement be?" "Probably limited, I have no experience in managing such a project. I'll be like a secretary at most. I'm not complaining. It'll be good experience. I'm planning on going back to school in a year or so." After a moment she asks, "Who was the other guy?" "My neighbor, we had a bet as to whether your boyfriend would deliver. I lost. Now look," he says, "I can give you a ride home or you can sleep in the guest room." "That would be best." "Which?" "The ride home if it's not too much trouble." "OK, I had been planning to send you back by cab, with a note of thanks of course, but I think I'll prolong the pleasure of your company. I'll have to walk to the garage where my car is parked. It'll be 15 minutes maybe." As much to do something as not, she climbs the stairs that spiral up from the hall. On the first floor up she finds a dining room with another hearth and a long hardwood table. In the gloom she catches a glimpse of the kitchen. On the third floor she finds his bedroom, a bathroom and his study. In his bedroom there is a four poster bed with a gauzy canopy. A rope is attached to the each post with a black leather cuff on the rope's free end. Each looks to her like a little hangman's noose. She looks in the study. There she sees a thing like the vaulting horse she remembers from her school gym days. It has straps with cuffs on each leg. Paddles and straps and candles and other paraphernalia are on shelves in a glass doored cabinet. She carefully walks back down the stairs. She's just returned to the ground floor when the front door opens. He is back. "Get a coat from the closet. There should be some boots too." "I'm good," she says, "The car'll be warm? and I could get both my feet into one of your boots and have room for a third." He shields her with an umbrella down the steps and across the cold pavement. A Prius idles, if that's what you call what they do, double parked. He opens the door and she slides in. Grateful that it is indeed warm. She tells him her address. He says, "I'll get close and then let you tell me. I'd rather hear your voice than the car's." She looks out the window. They drive without speaking. Then, "This exit." Then "Right at the light." Finally "Turn here" into an apartment complex. "If he's not home, how will you get in?" he asks. "I've got a spare key hidden under my car," she says, "I'll just use it." She points to where her car is parked. He shields her with his umbrella as she climbs out and walks between her car and the one next to it. Her feet leave brief bare footprints on the wet asphalt. She bends and reaches up into the left front wheel well. She shows him the little black box that'd been hidden there. He walks with her to the glass front door of the building. He watches her let herself in. He watches through the glass as she walks across the little entryway, leaving slim little wet footprints. She waits at the elevator and then vanishes. Less than five minutes later she rushes out. She looks shocked and angry. She still wears the blue robe. It opens wide as she hurries. She sees his car and runs to it. Her bare feet splash in the puddles. "Thank God you're still here. That asshole," she says, sliding in. "My mother taught me always to wait a few moments after dropping off a date," he says dryly, "To make sure all is well. What's wrong?" "That asshole." she repeats, "I let myself in. I immediately heard them. This loud moaning. Over the music even. The jerk." "I can't say I'm that surprised." She takes a deep breath, "Well no, maybe not. But shit. It was the college intern from work. I was so stunned all I wanted to do was get out of there. The creep." They sit quietly for a minute. "Look, this is really rotten of me," she says, "But would you be willing to let me use your guest room? The second option?" "Sure," he says. "It's really too much. I'm sorry about dragging you all this way. If I went to friends or my parents like this! I could never explain." "You want me to go back up with you Ella?" he asks. "You could get clothes and whatever?" "I couldn't stand it." "I could go up by myself." "You are really nice," she sighs. She's quiet. "No, I don't want to be here. You'll think me crazy, but I want to be someplace else. Someplace I can crash where no one knows me and I don't have to explain." "OK." A short time later, when the car's accelerated onto the highway, he asks, "You met him at work?" "Yes," she answers in a flat voice from the dark of the passenger's seat. "I'll tell you about the first time we had sex? This was maybe our third date. We went out to eat with a crowd of his friends. There were maybe ten of us. We went to this Korean restaurant. They had this room in the basement, like for family parties and groups like ours, separate from the restaurant proper upstairs. We all sat at this long table. One of the guys had a paper bag and each guy including Tod drew a slip of paper from it. I'd had a couple drinks. I thought it was a raffle or something. You know, one couple doesn't have to pay or some such. Kind'a stupid. "After a bit, I noticed one couple get up. I thought they were like going to the restrooms. "They came back and after a couple minutes another couple got up. I knew right then. I felt cold and like I was trapped in this cone of silence, though the room was real hot and noisy. For the next ten minutes while they were gone. All I thought of was getting up and leaving. Then I wondered if Tod and I were next. We weren't. We were the couple after that. He led me to this little storage room. Right next to the function room. I could hear the shouting and laughing. It had a cot. One of the women had brought a clean sheet, I learned later. I let him undress me. I gave him a blow job and took the condom he offered, coaxed him back to life and then stretched out on the cot. It felt quite nasty. I could hear everything that was said next door. He lay on me and entered. I felt horrible through most of it. Then, after like fifteen minutes I felt like explosively hot. Things got quiet next door and I knew they were listening. I couldn't help myself. "When we went back in they cheered and I felt quite embarrassed, but not so bad otherwise." There's silence in the car save for the road sounds. "You want to know about the pictures, how I got started on that?" She doesn't wait for him to say anything, "Shortly after I moved in with him, Tod showed me this video. It was called 'The Bribe'. This girl, wearing just a coat, walks into the county commissioner's office. She closes the door behind herself." Ella pauses and then in a rueful tone, "Oh my god, I just realized how close to home this is. Anyway. She says she's a slave sent by so-and-so and she will do whatever the guy wants. She has a bag of things, you know, cuffs, clamps, what have you. She shows them to the guy. She demonstrates each in turn and encourages him to get some hands on experience. "When she started demonstrating, Tod paused it. He got from a closet this like shoe box. He told me to stand and strip. Then as each thing happened on the screen, he did the same to me. I remember watching the girl, the porn..., well she was acting so we'll call her the actress. I remember wondering whether the character she played enjoyed what was happening. I wondered whether the actress in fact enjoyed it. Some of the things, like with the strap, weren't really happening to her so much. Tod the bastard didn't pull his punches." "What happened then," he asks. "Despite myself I felt very hot and ..." "I meant in the video?" "Sheesh. They had a bit of a surprise end. The girl goes back to so-and-so with a note saying that the commissioner doesn't accept bribes and that so-and-so's request for a zoning change is rejected." The Pleasant Day He asks, "Why did you stay with him?" She watches the lights of the inner suburbs slide by. "Tod could be quite a bit of fun to be with." It's as if with each overpass they rush under, another reason appears. She adds, "I've been unwilling to admit a mistake." "He's easy on the eyes." "I've learned a good bit. Working on that proposal was good experience. It'll help when I go back to school." "The pleasure, though rare, hits in this super rush." "It's nice to float along, doing as you're told." To change the subject, she asks, "You live by yourself?" He says, "Yes for some time now. I was married. Till ten years ago. We found we had different goals and separated. As there were no children and both of us had good incomes, it was amiable." "No one since?" "I run a mutual fund. It's been an eventful few years." She opens her mouth, but closes it and watches the buildings pass by. They get off the highway. As they near his neighborhood, she says, "How far is the garage from your place?" "Ten minutes. I'll let you in then go and park." "I'm in the mood for a walk," she says. He glances over at her in surprise. "You'll get cold." "You've an umbrella," she says. She doesn't stay under it. Sometimes she zigzags, hands in the robe's pockets. The robe opens as she steps to reveal startlingly beautiful white legs. Sometimes she balances on the curb, placing one foot carefully in front of the other, arms outstretched for balance, tipping to the right, tipping to the left and catching herself on a parked car. Sometimes she jumps in the shallow puddles. Her hair gathers glistening droplets from the thin rain. Her face shines. He opens the door to his condo, holds it for her and closes it behind her. She shivers and says, "You were right about getting cold. It's lovely in here." She stands in front of the fire. He opens the glass doors and adds a log to it. She looks at the fire for a time, then says, "I feel so like totally dirty." "It's late," he says, "I'll show you the guest room and get you a toothbrush and toothpaste." ------------------------------------ Next day. She surprises herself and sleeps late. It's the sun that wakes her. The rain has vanished and sunlight washes across the bed. After showering and pulling on the man's tee shirt and the slightly too small robe, she somewhat cautiously goes down two flights of stairs. She finds him reading the paper in the kitchen. She says "Good morning," shyly. She holds the robe tightly closed. "Look," she says, "There must be like an 'Old Navy' or some such store nearby? Could you buy me like jeans and a sweatshirt? Then drive me back to that shit's place? I'll pay you back. I know it's a lot to ask. I should've gone back up last night." "I have everything mapped out," he says, "Here, sit." He pushes a chair back and slides the paper down the kitchen table. He watches as she extracts the sports section. He gets her juice and makes toast for her, ignoring her "I can do that". Once she's eaten and is working on a mug of coffee, he calls a cab. When it comes, he opens the front door and says, "Out we go." "What about clothes?" she asks. "That's our first order of business," he says. She looks out. The air has the kind of cleanliness it only gets in the fall after rain. He has gone down the steps and crossed the sidewalk and is opening the cab's door. She reddens and hurries across the pavement. The sidewalk is no longer so deserted. He directs the cab first to a CVS. He leaves her sitting in the cab and hurries in. He comes out with a pair of flip-flops. The cab next takes them to an upscale department store. "I don't know," she says, looking at it through the window. "Unless you shop here regularly," he says, "You'll never see these people again." He pulls her out and leads her in. When she is too embarrassed to do more than stand and nod after mumbling her size, he chooses a dress with a black and white floral pattern. "She'll wear it," he says after she's pulled it on in the changing room. She feels a lot easier and the sales woman doesn't look so strained. He takes her to the lingerie department. Here she takes an interest and helps pick several pairs of white briefs, two bras (one just a bit of pale stuff to support the breasts from below) and a white slip. Coming out of the changing room completely dressed, she feels much more human. She expects they'll leave, him being close to five hundred dollars the poorer. He leads her to where women's pants are displayed. "This's enough," she says. "Nonsense," he states. They browse through pants and tops and sweaters. She begins to enjoy herself. After some pleasant indecision, she chooses one of each. "Enough," she says. They look at cocktail dresses. Somewhat in a trance, she eventually picks a black one with wide shoulder straps and an oval neckline. "Shoes now," he says, "To go with that dress." She loves shopping for shoes. After half an hour of looking and rejecting she glances over at him with a guilty expression. She's surprised to see that he looks quite happy. He stands with an abstracted expression, looking across the store at the staff and at the customers and at nothing in particular. She finally chooses a pair of black pumps with black ribbons and moderate heels. Then at his insistence, "And a pair to go with what you're wearing." Despite her, "Really, the flip-flops are fine," she sinks back into the pleasures of looking at shoes. She finally picks a pair of white flat soled sandals. Despite her protests, he makes her look at handbags. She after 20 minutes she chooses a red leather shoulder bag. They wander into the jewelry section. "I have earrings," she shows him, "Tod missed them". They're little glass things. After more pleasant indecision, she chooses a pair of gold earrings, little gold flowers that hang on gold chains. "This is costing you a fortune." He shrugs. "I like being with women when they shop. It's relaxing, or usually is. I can just gaze about at the beautiful things and let them get on with it. With you I've had to do more work than I like, that's my only complaint." Their cab pauses long enough to let him open his front door and toss the stuff in, then it takes them to the art museum. They spend an hour idling through the impressionists. She finds all the vague women and flowers a bit dull, but wanders about at his side dutifully. After lunch in the museum's cafe, they return to his home. He tells her to change into the pants and blouse and sweater. When she has, they walk some blocks to the river and he takes her out in a small boat. It's windy and on the water it's cool. For a time she's nervous, ducking when told. Grabbing a line when told. Leaning when told. Then she loses herself in the experience of being on the water, with the sun flashing on the surface, the other boats, and the beauty of the city rising before her. Safely ashore again, they wander a bit, side by side, not touching, on the paths along the water. Then he does touch her arm and they return home. "We'll dress for dinner." She showers and spends some time putting her hair up using hair pins she finds in the top dresser drawer in the guest room. She puts on the gold earrings. She looks at the instructions and lies on her back on the bed and presses the adhesive bra under her breasts. She admires herself in the mirror. She pulls the black dress over her head. She frowns at her hair and touches it up. Finally she steps into the black pumps. Downstairs she finds him sitting at the desk, his back to the bay window. He has his laptop open and has evidently been working. He looks up at her with a frown. He's wearing a gray suit with a dark red tie. "I didn't know we were on the clock" she says to his frown. He sighs, "You look quite lovely." He puts a simple black choker around her neck. The cab takes them to a restaurant on the harbor. For desert they share a slice of cheesecake, their heads close enough together to bump as they take turns with his fork. The fork the waiter brought for her lies untouched. "The, the ... what you have upstairs," she says in a low voice. "Yes?" he asks, showing no surprise that she knows. She explains anyway, "While I was waiting for you to come back with the car last night I went up and well snooped." "Yes?" he asks, "Your question is?" She looks around at the other tables, some with couples, some with larger groups, families? "Who?" "Ah, it doesn't reflect well on me," he says. He looks out through the windows at the gray water and the peer and harbor beyond. "The wife of a friend. In fact the guy who was with me last night to share the pleasure of your arrival. They have smallish children. Sometimes she finds them and my friend a bit much. Once, sometimes twice a month, rarely more often, she tells her husband she's going out with her girlfriends or friends from work. Sometimes she really does. Often she comes over. "She says an out of body experience, and that is what she says it is for her, cannot really be counted as infidelity. "She says that a break from always making decisions, managing her family's lives, is essential. Some time to simply exist without thought. "When I see her socially, she always looks very happy." "Does your friend know?" she asks. "I don't know," he says, "I imagine." "Listen," she murmurs, looking down at the destroyed remains of the cake, "Anything you wish to do with me, well, to me, is fine." "You didn't look happy in those pictures, the ones your boyfriend showed me." "I suspect I won't be happy with what you do either." "There's no need then," he says. "However the surroundings weren't so nice," she says reflectively, "I expect that will make all the difference." He smiles and scrapes together a last forkful of cake and lifts it between her lips. "I feel like its me that's desert," she says. They take a cab. She looks surprised when they stop in front of a small movie theater. "I'd thought,..." she says. "There's pleasure in postponement," he tells her, "And this is part of my itinerary." Next to the theater on one side is a delicatessen, on its other is a tuxedo store, then a vacant store front and beyond that a dry cleaners. The theater advertises a Billy Wilder retrospective. Inside it is clear that at one time the theater was much larger. Walls slice the space into a narrow corridor. She is way overdressed. The crowd of mostly college aged kids wear jeans and sweatshirts. They watch 'The Apartment' in a crowd of people, the way it was meant to be viewed. The next cab does deliver them back onto his elegant residential street. Inside her heels click on the wood floors. He guides her by the elbow into the living room then over to the desk that sits in the bay window. He bends and lifts her skirt. She takes the hint and leans over the desk. She supports herself on her elbows. She spreads her legs. He tosses her skirt up onto her back. He sees that she is not wearing panties. "Ah," he says. He runs a dry finger down her cunt. She shivers. He says, "It's a little ungrateful of you not to wear what I purchased." He leaves her then. He closes the curtains in front of her. He vanishes behind her. She hears him at the fireplace. She hears the sounds of wood being moved, a certain rattling sound and a soft sigh as the flames rise from the kerosene tray he uses. She shares the desktop with a pen and paper and his black laptop. She does not try to look around, but just looks down at the shiny wood of the desktop. A vague reflection of herself looks up at her. She hears his footsteps leave the room and climb the stairs. She hears them return. He goes to the coffee table and sets a tray with a bottle of white wine, a glass and other things that are indistinct in the firelight on the coffee table. She hears him approach her. She hears the rattle of ice in a glass. She feels him pull at her dress and push it further up her back. She shifts her weight onto her left arm and slips her right back to help pull the dress forward. She feels him press up behind her. Her right hand is conveniently located to touch him and guide him as a tug does a ship to its allotted berth. She looks up at the curtained window. He enters her. Her eyes widen, her tongue touches her lip, and she murmurs a soft "oh". She feels his zipper and belt press up against her bottom. She lifts her right leg and rests it on the desktop. She looks back down at the desktop. She concentrates on what she's feeling. The man's view is limited. He sees the confusion of cloth on her back. He sees her pale arm circle under. He knows by feel where the hand is, where her fingers are as he slides forward and back. He admires her delicate neck and the black choker that circles it. He sees her hair and its growing confusion of strands. He cannot see her face. Only a vague hint of it in the polished wood of the desktop. Her vantage point is even more compromised. All she can see is her flawed reflection in the wood. She can see the slim arm that supports her, its elbow hard on the wood, her forearm rests on the wood and her fingers just grip the far edge of the desk. Hers is not a visual world just then. A privileged onlooker would sit on the windowsill a short distance from the desk, his head level with hers. As such an onlooker does not exist, he must be imagined. Their imagined audience can't tell if her eyes are open or closed, all he can see are her eyelids with their hint of makeup and their delicate dark fringe. Her hair, still neatly done when they returned, is now beginning to come loose. The delicate gold flower of one of her earrings brushes her cheek as she is rocked forward and back. Its gold makes a nice contrast with the pink of her cheek and the black of the choker that clasps her neck. The red of her lipstick is still perfect and unmarred. Her lips are closed. The black of her dress frames her breasts. There is humid darkness between them. Only her nipples are out of view. The man's tie, still neatly knotted, is thrown back over his shoulder as if there's some danger of it getting tangled and pressed up into her, causing something of an industrial accident. He looks sad and lost. His hands hold her hips. They grip through the fabric of her dress. She moves the leg that rests on the desktop back and forth. Her black shoe makes a slight scraping sound as she moves it. Is the movement conscious or not? Our imagined observer can't tell. Her thigh eclipses the man's hips. There is only indirect evidence of his motion. The reaction to action. Her expression is calm and focused and intent. Something happens in the man. A sudden expression of anger and revulsion. He steps back. She frowns slightly at the interruption. With a sudden fury the man pulls his belt from his suit pants. One of the loops rips. He lifts the belt and brings it down hard on her bottom. The sharp crack echoes. She gasps and cries out with pain and surprise. He strikes her again. She grips the table top. Her eyes are tightly closed. Her teeth are clenched. Three, four, five. She puts her mouth to her right arm to stifle her cries. Six, eight, ten, fifteen cracks. He sags and looks down. He drops the belt. "My God I'm sorry," he says. He helps her up. Her face is tightly twisted with shock and hurt. She sobs softly. He guides her to the couch. She sits, winces, stands and then drops to her knees on the hearth rug. Unlike the patterned deer who are fleeing, she has been brought down. "I'm so sorry," he repeats, "I, I'll get you a hotel room. I'll get you a cab." She looks at the coffee table. On it, on a tray, is a bottle of wine and and an empty glass. Also on the tray are other items, clamps, candles, a whip. She looks away hurriedly. He goes to the desk and comes back with his phone. He starts to tap purposefully. His finger shakes. "I'm getting the room," he says. "Why," she manages in a barely audible voice. "Because you won't want to stay." "That wasn't I meant by why." "I, oh, Christ I don't know. It all became too much. I felt suddenly destructive and angry." "At me?" "At you, at myself, at everything. I'll get you a hotel room." "Why," she asked again. "Because you won't want to stay." "This is kind of circular," she says. They're silent a few moments. She sighs, "And I did say you could do anything you liked to me, remember? You still may. Though if I were putting in requests, I'd not include that as one of them." "You're sure?" Then with more of his easy dryness, he adds, "Think carefully, free rooms at the Ritz don't come one's way often." "But I'm not sure I'm able to get there," she says, "I don't fancy sitting in a cab and in fact I may not able to walk at all, thanks to you." "You might add wood to the fire," he says. He watches as she crawls the couple feet to the fireplace, takes a log from the stack to the side and places it gingerly on its burning fellows on the grate. She looks very delicious on her hands and knees, in her black dress with her disheveled brown hair. He pours her a glass of wine. He looks at the fire and her. He sips his whiskey. He says in a self mocking though serious tone, "You know, that was the first time I've been unfaithful to my wife." "You said you weren't married," she says unpleasantly surprised, "I wouldn't've..." "Ex-wife then, though the legalities don't always affect how one feels about something." "Oh," she says. "Your friend's wife..." "Ten, no well, I guess closer to twelve years now, Jeanne and I split up. Amiably, like I told you last night, at least civilizedly, if that's a word. She wanted children. I did not. My friend was single. He had been too ambitious and hard working for real relationships. He's a lawyer. He was reevaluating his choices. The two of them did the sensible expeditious thing. She was then in her mid thirties. They'd been friends since college. It's worked out very well all around." "Does she still love you?" "I'm not sure what that means." "Do you still love her?" "Yes," then, "I'll call around for a hotel room." She shifts about and pulls her dress over her head. She holds it up by the shoulder straps so that for a moment it looks like there's an invisible woman wearing it. She folds it neatly. The movement makes her look very fetching. She places the tidy small square of black fabric on the coffee table. She pulls off the half cups of the bra. Her breasts hardly need the support. He sits for a moment. "You are sure?" he asks. When she doesn't answer he takes from the tray on the coffee table a length of black cloth. He bends forward and wraps it around her head, blindfolding her. He takes her wine glass from the coffee table. He idly runs a finger along its lip, making a soft ringing sound. He stretches it to her and she sips. He touches a nipple. He sees her shift just slightly. He squeezes the tender little thing, letting his fingernails pinch. "Your frown is very sweet," he tells her. From the tray he takes a jar of pebbles. "Lift yourself off your knees a moment." When she does he spills the pebbles on the carpet. "Kneel again." He smiles again at her frown. "Today was very much like the weekend days we used to have, my wife and I," he tells her. "Shopping, lunch, sailing, dinner, theater or a concert or a film, then back here. I didn't think they'd ever end, those days, but they did. I thought I'd find them again with someone else, but I never wanted to. "It's stupid but I get so full of regret. I want to kick myself." "Just don't kick me," she says. He takes from the tray a bag of party colored plastic clips, the kind you get in the supermarket to close bags of chips. "I'm thinking of a number from one to ten," he says. The Pleasant Day "Three," she says. "Nope." He attaches a clip to the side of her left breast. He smiles again as she shifts and frowns. "Very attractive," he says, "Both the pin and the frown." After six more wrong answers, she says with a pout, "You're cheating." For that, he touches her chin, then her nose, the he closes her lips and clips them shut. After regarding her a moment, he takes that one off. "A mistake, I like your voice," he says. "Please stand," he asks. She does. She bends and brushes from her knees the pebbles that have embedded themselves in her flesh. As she straightens, she says, "I don't like this next part." "What part is that?" She frowns again. "Tod has this nasty plastic thing he uses to knock these off." She touches one of the clips. "The thing looks like a fly swatter. It hurts." "All the more reason to leave the bastard," he says, flicking the clip that grips a nipple. He slides a finger along her left cunt lip and then all business he attaches a clamp to it from which hangs by a silver chain a little gold bell. She makes a soft gasping "huh" sound. He adorns the other lip the same way. He slaps her bruised rump and she jumps and the bells chime. "In case you're curious," she says, "I am feeling very very hot." "We can do something about that, would you close the fireplace doors?" "That's not what I meant." "Precision in speech is important, would you close them." She moves hesitantly toward the heat, away from his voice. The bells ring. "More to your left unless you want to get really hot." He watches her touch the bricks on the side then feel down, bending, presenting her discolored ass to him. She gingerly closes the glass doors. "Now stand and turn 180 degrees," he instructs. "A little more or you'll come to harm on the coffee table. Now walk." The bells jingle as she moves cautiously through space. "A little to the right," he says and she clears the doorway to the living room. "You're about at the stairs." As she climbs them, she looks intensely excited and not a little worried. It is only when she feels his bed on her knee that the worry clears, "I was afraid we were going into the other room," she says. "Maybe later," he smiles, "And remember, it's not far if I should need anything." He reaches between her legs and undoes the clamps. He holds both clamps in his left hand and swings them idly. The bells ring. He admires her. "Now lie on your back" He takes her left ankle and lifts her leg. He takes the rope that hangs from the bedpost and attaches the cuff to the ankle. Soon her legs and arms are lifted and spread. She is entirely open. She sighs. She realizes she is alone when she hears his footsteps going down the stairs. Shortly he returns. She hears something that rattles. From the ice bucket he takes a cube and holds presses it against her sex. "Shit," she says, "That's cold." "I'm just trying to do something about your complaint," he says reasonably, moving the ice about between her legs. "You're an asshole," she says. "You should give me more precise guidance." "Creep." He puts the cube on the bone between her breasts. He takes two needle pinwheels and pushes the ice up the firm rise of her right breast. When ice sits on her nipple he waits a moment. It balances and then a movement and sigh from her causes it to sled down and toboggan a little way across the flat of her stomach. "In case you're wondering," she says, "Your methods aren't working, I'm getting hotter and hotter." He puts the ice cube on her other nipple. The circle of clips corrals it. He lights a candle, holds it a minute and then tips it just under her neck, on her collar bone. "Shit," she complains. "If cold doesn't work, fight fire with fire." He lays a trail of red lava down her chest, pausing briefly to fill her navel and then down between her legs, letting it pool in her wide up open cunt. "Shit shit shit," she complains. She pulls on her bonds and lifts herself off the bed and shakes. "Since I can't do anything about your condition," he says in a calmly reasonable tone, "I'll have to attend to my own problem." He strips. He undoes the cuffs on her left leg and arm and shortens the ropes that hold her right side, lifting her. He stretches on the bed and spoons in behind her. She sighs. With her free hand she reaches back between her legs and touches him. He becomes fully hard. "Please," she says. "Just a moment," he says. He takes a condom from the bedside table and pulls it on. He pushes up from behind. Her hand takes him and guides him home. He begins sliding in and out. With one hand, the one he's slipped under her, he plays idly with the plastic attached to the convenient breast. With the other hand takes a small whip and idly strikes her chest, mostly to watch the wax as it's swept away. When he swings it between her legs, he himself says, "Damn" as he's hit his own cock. "Serves you right," she grumbles, then she begins to buck. She cries out and then as she relaxes, she murmurs, "Shit I feel good." Soon his labors gain force. He grips her hips hard and pushes hard up against her. "Jesus that's good," she cries, her face tightly clenched in pleasure. He relaxes after a moment. "You've cooled me off, thanks," she says. "No need for thanks," he says, "It was a quite inadvertent and inconsequential side effect." "Asshole." He gets up after a moment. He deals with the condom. Then he undoes the remaining two cuffs, pulls the covers up over her, turns out the light and slides into bed beside her. In the dark she says, "That feels nice what you're doing." In the gloom, the covers above her waist can be seen to be moving slightly. "How did you get started with the, well you know, this stuff." She takes his hand and puts it on the breast that still has the clips clinging to it. "After Jeanne moved in with me, she poked around one evening when I was working late. She found in the back of the closet some books I'd hidden. There was 'The Marketplace', 'Shadow and Light', and of course 'The Story of O'. Do you know them?" "No," she says. "Perhaps you should, anyway, a week or so later she gave me a package. It contained 5 dvds. The Brazilian version of the 'Story of O', dubbed in English. The note with the package just said 'Lets'." She turns around and squirms and goes down on him. After licking and sucking and fingering him, she calls up from the depths, "We're going to need another one." She takes the offered condom. Caressing it once its on, she says, "Time to start tunneling, brother mole, the world above ground is not for the likes of you." She sits on him and begins rising and falling and wiggling her ass. She bounces faster and faster. Her face hardens and tightens and she squeezes her eyes closed. "Sweet Jesus," she cries. He rolls her on her back and begins to do his share. After an indeterminate length of time he works faster, tenses and then sighs. "Faker," she says. "I'm really tired." "That's OK, would it be too horrible if I confess that I was dozing?" She pulls the condom off him and gets up and carries it into the bathroom. When she returns moments later, he's asleep. ------------------------------------ She wakes before he does. She slips carefully out of bed. Standing, she notices she still has the plastic clips clinging to one breast. She leaves them be. After showering, she pulls on the green robe and leaves it open in front. She goes downstairs and as the coffee brews, she goes on down into the living room and picks up. As she lifts the tray with the jar of pebbles, the clamps, the bag of clips and assorted candles and whips, she sees him standing in the entry way. "Maid service," she says. "These belong upstairs in the study?" He crosses to her. He gently removes the clips from where the bite her, drops them in the bag with their fellows, then runs his finger along the indents they've left behind in her flesh. He turns her and lifts the robe. "Jesus, I'm sorry." he says. Her rump is quite black and blue. She sets the tray back down on the coffee table and turns. She leans forward and grips the bricks of the fireplace. "Before coffee?" he asks. "I think you're low on cream," she answers, "And the fire needs lighting." Sometime later, after kissing her cheek, he steps back from her. "It's been a long time," he says. "Since last night counts as a long time without a fuck for you?" "Since I made love in the morning." Then he asks, "Would you like a fire?" and when she says yes he does indeed start it, though outside it is bright and sunny. After they have made and eaten pancakes and are on the second pot of coffee, she stands in the bay window looking out at the brightly lit world. He sits at his desk. She sees that he's going over the proposal. "Leave it," she says. "I have other work to do too," he says, then "Kneel here." He points to where the sunlight washes the carpet beside his chair. She does after taking the pad of paper and a pen from the desk. To amuse herself, she sketches how the city and river looked from the boat. She sketches him looking at a painting in the museum. She keeps glancing up at him for details. For the painting she relies on memory and invention. She thinks she's improved on the Monet. She sketches herself, alone in the back seat of the black car, seen at a stoplight. She looks at the desk and then at him. She imagines how she must've looked, the night before, bent over it, just another item on the surface, coequal to the laptop and the pens and the pad of paper and the i-phone. She imagines him behind her and the sadness in his face. "You're quite good," he says. He is standing behind her. "It's amusement." "Have you thought of doing something with it?" She shrugs, "I have no burning desire to. I'm going back to architecture school in a year," she says. "I'm hoping to get into Northeastern." "You have a burning desire to be an architect?" "No," she admits, "But it's the path I'm on." "Jeanne and Andy, he's the fellow you sort of met will be by shortly. We're going to lunch." "Their kids?" "I gather my ex-mother is taking them to the Children's Museum." "I'm invited?" "To the Children's Museum? I'll call and ask." "You are a jerk." "Of course you're invited." "How much will, what's your friend's name again? have told her?" "I won't venture to guess how much Andy told Jeanne about your arrival. You'd better go up and get dressed, they'll not let you in the restaurant looking like that." Jeanne proves to be an attractive woman, slightly shorter than Ella. There are crows feet around her eyes and streaks of gray in her black hair. She has the comfortable athletic form that regular well considered exercise will bring. She greets Ella with a friendly, "Hey, I heard Charles was bringing a friend. It's been a long time coming. I'm Jeanne." Ella visibly relaxes, though she blushes when she shakes Andy's hand. After lunch in Chinatown they go to a concert in a museum. Ella is nervous during the former and hardly says a word. She sits through the concert, a flute sonata by Rameau and a Shubert sonata arranged for flute and piano, with still politeness. Charles sees this and smiles. On the way out, she says, when Jeanne asks her how she liked it, "No drums and it wasn't half loud enough." They go to a bar with outside tables. Enjoying possibly the last warm sun of the year, the women drink wine and the men beer. The conversation is easy. First it mirrors the conversation she'd had with Tod at the restaurant it seems like years before. They talk about the scandals in Washington. The other three have quite different opinions from Ella and they argue amiably. Then they talk about the 'Age of Thrones' and the 'Mad Men'. Then the conversation shifts to things only other three know of. The upcoming visit of a college friend and what he's been doing and then what they've heard from others. Ella watches the passers by. She imagines how she would draw them. Charles glances at his watch, "The Patriots game is in an hour." "Did you see how badly their defensive ends got burned last Sunday against the Rams?" Ella asks suddenly focused. "Not the Patriots," sighs Jeanne. Now it's her turn to watch the street scene. In the ladies room as they are preparing to walk home, Jeanne washes her hands at the sink next to Ella. "I've not seen Charles this happy in a long time," Jeanne says. "You're not upset?" Ella asks. "So you know?" Ella nods. "Of course not," Jeanne says. They pause outside the ladies room door. "It's been a mess. At first I think I mostly wanted to have my cake and eat it too. Maybe I needed it too. One can feel so trapped. "For a long time, I've wanted to stop, but I've been unable to decide whether it would make things better or worse for him. He's much better today." "I doubt this is for more than the weekend," Ella says, "You know about how...?" "Yes." "Jesus," says Ella, "I can't believe I let it happen." "And I'm surprised you're so nice." Ella smiles, feeling pleased. As they make their way back to where the men somewhat impatiently wait for them, Ella adds, "The jerk didn't even have to ask. I sat there in that car, outside the restaurant. He just looked at me and I took my clothes off." "You're instincts are sound," Jeanne comments, "You'll do well with Charles." "Oh, this is just for the weekend," Ella says. Back in his place, the two of them watch football. During half time he mutes the sound and they fuck in a companionable unpassionate fashion. Even though the game is about to start up again, he says, "You'll have to go back soon. I signed the agreement." He hands her the manila envelope. "I hope you didn't because of..." He stops her, "No. You've the better proposal and I'll be paying you less. What're your plans?" "I'll deliver the good news, pack my stuff and descend on my parents. They'll be glad to put me up while I find a place. They've never cared much for Tod." "You could move in here." She's quiet, then "I'm not sure that's a good idea." "Well, think about it. You've given me the best weekend I can remember," then "When you're ready, I'll give you a ride." "After the game, oh shit!" On the flatscreen a guy wearing the wrong colors races down the field with the ball. "Look at what we missed! Where're your priorities?" ------------------------------------ "Well?" Tod asks after she's let herself into the apartment. She says "Here" and hands him the bulky packet. "It's signed?" "Yes," she says. She ignores his whoop and heads for their bedroom. "What the fuck!" Tod yells from the living room. He rushes in, "What the fuck is this?" "I'm moving out," she says. She's tossing things from the closet into her suitcase. "What is this shit," he waves the agreement, "You are one nasty scheming bitch." "What?" she turns to face him. He waves the packet at her, "Don't play the fucking innocent!" "Let me see," she takes it from him. Her eyes widen. What Charles signed'd been modified so that she is in charge of the development. She is to oversee everything. "You bitch, I'm having nothing to do with this." "That's fine," she says calmly, "This means a lot less to me than to you. I'm going back to school soon anyway." He raises his hand. "You hit me," she says calmly, "And that's it. No money, no reputation boost, no step closer to going it alone." "You are a piece of work." "I don't see how it matters to you," she says, "It'll save you effort and you get the same result. I suggest we split the profit 90/10. 90 to you. The 10'll put me through school I figure." "Suppose you screw up. You've never done this kind of thing." "Neither have you. And you'd better use your superior education to make sure I don't." "You're a bitch," he says. "And you're repeating yourself. Agree or not," she says, "I'm out of here. I'll come back for the rest of my stuff tomorrow." Its only as she rolls her suitcase through the living room that he realizes. "Hey what the fuck are you doing Ella?" "Moving out," she says, "I'm sure we can manage to work together in a professional manner." Out in the parking lot, Charles waits by her car. The hard parking lot light makes him look tired and older. "Did you like the sweetener?" he asks. "Is it right to bribe the bribe?" she asks. "Look," he says, "I shouldn't've said that. I put the agreement together this morning, before, you know, before I asked." "I know," she says. "It's not conditional in any way." She looks at him consideringly. "You'll be heading for your parents' now," he says. She says, "I'm thinking about the issues around you're being so much older than me." He sags a bit. He looks sad. He looks away toward the busy street beyond the parked cars. "What if I should want kids?" she asks. He looks down at the pavement. "Look at me," she says. He does and says in reply, "I don't know." She's quiet, then, "I'm gonna do what I want. I'll follow you back into town". ------------------------------------ Some years later, our imaginary observer watches 4 people, two couples, enter an expensive hotel. In one pair both are in their late forties, the woman still slim and pretty. In the other the two are disparate, the woman is in her late twenties and quite beautiful. They'd gone to an art gallery where the young woman is exhibiting some paintings. They've had an expensive dinner and've been to the theater where the young woman was quite bored. They've reserved two rooms but go together to one of them. The observer watches as the four disport themselves. At one point the women are made stand back to back in front of the mirror that hangs over one of the dressers. They hold their arms over their heads and the cuffs on their wrists are connected, similarly the cuffs on their ankles. A strap connects the chokers they wear around their necks. A double ended toy is pressed up their assholes. They look like some kind of exotic chimera, a creature engineered for but one thing. One man takes a clamp and attaches it to a nipple. The other man mirrors his actions. One takes a pinwheel of sharp needles and navigates it across the landscape before him. The other mirrors. They amuse themselves while the chimera moans and complains with its strange double voice, until it's covered with obscene decorations. Each man enters as best he can the cunt that belongs to him. They lift the creature and carry it to the bed. They play about lying side by side but soon nature demands better access. The chimera is disassembled, a kind of asexual reproduction results in two very different chimeras rocking and writhing and groaning side by side. Later, burnt out for the time being, the men watch as the older woman dons a strap-on. Through it all the young woman's expression is quite intense, intent on what she is feeling. The imaginary onlooker notes with some sadness that her stomach is not as taught, nor her waist as slim as it was before. On her left thigh there is now a tracery of blue veins. Later, when the clock shows close to four, the four loll about on the bed, finishing the second flask of martinis. The young woman's head rests tiredly on her partner's shoulder. He says, "Look how we have to flee our homes to have a good time. I was right the first time. Just say no to children."