Slow Surrender (21 page)

“That’s it? That’s all you know?”

“I’m sure he’ll text you more details if necessary,” Stefan said.

“Come on, Stefan. This is a big deal! I need to know at least what kind of shoes to wear. Will there be actual ball dancing?”

“I’ve never been permitted inside to see,” Stefan said. “But there is a ballroom—that much I do know.”

“Is this like a regular thing? Who’s throwing it? He said it would be a bunch of rich, overprivileged people.”

Stefan snorted at that. “He should be one to talk. But yes. It’s in a very rich person’s private home.”

“A private home with a ballroom?”

“Yes. That level of rich.”

“I’m not even sure I can imagine that kind of money.”

“I’ll tell you one more thing about the person hosting the party. They’re rich enough to have paid for my college education without blinking.”

“Really? Where did you go?”

“Yale.”

“Yale!”

Stefan nodded. “And then to bodyguard school after that, which was nearly as expensive, especially when you consider I wrecked a car in the process of learning evasive and tactical driving.”

“What!”

He smiled at me in the mirror, with a cat-who-licked-the-cream sort of smile, and I knew he wasn’t going to say more. All right, fine, so the party would be at the house of a person so rich they basically lived on a separate planet from me. I suddenly wondered if a secondhand dress was going to be good enough.

“Man, now I’m really nervous about this.”

“Clearly I shouldn’t have told you anything,” Stefan said.

“Well, I better go do my shoe shopping this afternoon. Not that anyone can see my feet under that voluminous dress. Shoot. I wonder what I can afford.”

“Does it matter, if no one will see your feet?”

“Well, you know, if there’s a grand staircase, at some point you have to walk down it, and when you’re holding your skirts out of your way so you don’t trip and fall and break your neck, everyone gets to see your feet then.”

“Having never worn a ball gown, I can’t say I knew that, but I do now,” Stefan said. “Thank you.”

“I’ve never worn one either,” I admitted. “That’s something I read in a book somewhere.”

He chuckled. “I can see why he likes you. You’re real.”

“And most people aren’t?”

“No, they really aren’t. They’re exceedingly fake. Although New York is not as bad as Los Angeles. I think many of the people you meet there are actually androids. There’s no other explanation for it.”

“Have you traveled a lot?”

“A fair bit. His business takes us all over the world, and yet he’s a recluse at the same time. Otherwise I think we would go more places. Los Angeles, London, Seattle, Milan, Paris, Miami. It’s mostly just New York and London.”

“What’s London like?”

“A complete nightmare to navigate. They drive on the wrong side of the road there.”

Stefan regaled me with tales of vehicular jeopardy all the way back down to my building.

J
ames finally let me out of suspense late Friday night when we talked on the phone. “Look,” I said. “I need to know what shoes to buy, or if this is actually the kind of party where I won’t be wearing them long.”

His laugh sounded low and rich, even through the phone.

“Well?”

“What did Stefan tell you?” he asked.

“He didn’t tell me anything, which only increased my suspicion that this party is going to be full of shenanigans.”

“Oh, is that what they’re calling it these days?” he joked. “All right. I’ll clue you in a bit. This is a society of mostly well-heeled people who have some unorthodox ideas about sexual recreation.”

“There’s that word again! Recreation.”

“Well, it’s an interesting word, because many of them do seem to approach it like a hobby or a sport. Others are committed to the alternative lifestyle. Oh, what am I saying? Many of the same people are both highly committed to an alternative lifestyle and also, well, you’ll see. Besides, it makes perfect sense to get the exhibitionists and the voyeurs together for their mutual benefit.”

“I suppose it does. You still didn’t answer the question about the shoes. Will there be actual ballroom dancing?”

“Yes. We have some appearances to maintain, after all.”

“We do?”

“Oh, I don’t mean you and me. I mean this secret society overall. Think of it as an extended form of group foreplay. There’s a veneer of aristocracy atop the whole thing. Which perhaps makes it all the more fun when the veneer cracks.” He paused. “I’ll bring you shoes.”

“Wait, did you just say you’ll bring me shoes? You don’t even know my size.”

“Of course I do, sweetness. Did you forget I rented our ice skates?” He quoted my own words back to me. “You’re an ‘eight, sometimes seven and a half in styles that run big.’”

“All right. And I guess that means my secondhand ball gown is all right?”

“I assure you it’s fine. And don’t forget the tiara.”

“Hey, I thought a little more about what we said in the car today.”

“Which thing we said?”

“The bit about how it isn’t necessary for me to pretty myself up for you. Or my own self-esteem, for that matter. Wearing a pretty dress when you’re a single girl, it doesn’t work.”

“Doesn’t work?”

“Think about it. If a girl dresses really cute, is she really going to impress that boy she thinks is cute? Or is she only going to attract a lot of unwanted attention from men? I’ve never been big on all the unwanted attention. I mean, seriously, it’s gross most of the time. I’m not interested in those guys, young or old, so getting compliments or appraising looks can be downright creepy. And then there are the actual creepers who do shit like hover around trying to see your tits. Ugh. Why why why would I want to do anything to encourage that?”

He made a murmur of agreement.

“I don’t put on makeup. I don’t style my hair. I don’t wear cute shoes. I don’t wear frills or skirts or anything the color pink. Because it only leads to trouble. And I wouldn’t want to date any guy who only noticed me because of how cute my hair was.” The guys I had dated weren’t much better, I thought. “Here’s what’s different, though. I want to be pretty for you. I wish I was prettier, in fact.”

“Karina, you are far prettier than you give yourself credit for.”

“That’s not the point. The point is that for you, I pretty myself up because we both enjoy it. We have fun with it. I don’t mind exposing my femininity, literally or figuratively, when I’m with you. Heck, I don’t even mind other men watching me and appreciating what they see, as long as I’m with you.”

“A large number of voyeurs will be present in the crowd tomorrow,” he said.

“They can look all they want, because they’ll know I’m yours,” I said. “Isn’t that right?”

“That’s exactly right,” he said with some vehemence, which made me feel warm and tingly inside. “Now, about tomorrow, would you like to go back and see Mandinka? She does beauty above the waist as well.”

“Oh, that’s a thought.”

“Would you like to bring your roommate? She could get a facial or a pedicure herself, too.”

“Well—”

“Don’t insult me by offering to pay for it,” he said. “I’ll set up appointments for you both. You might want to bring the dress and change there.”

“This’ll be fun!” Once again, he’d thought of everything. Instead of me stressing over whether my hair and makeup were right, I’d have Mandinka work her magic. Everything was going to be just perfect.

I broke the news to Becky that we weren’t going shoe shopping after all. She was in the kitchen fighting with our toaster, which was fussy about actually toasting both sides of the bread sometimes. “He’s buying me shoes,” I told her.

“Great! How much do you think we can spend?” She pulled the toast out with a fork and put it back in facing the other way.

“No, no. I don’t mean he’ll pay for it. I mean he’s getting the shoes for me.”

“But I got you a bag!” she protested. “What if your shoes don’t match?”

“No one will see my shoes under the dress,” I pointed out. “What bag?”

“Look at this. I thought you’d need a place to put your cell phone and stuff.” She went to the shelf by the door to dig in her own purse, which was larger than most tote bags I had ever seen, and pulled out a plastic shopping bag wrapped around something. “Tada.”

I discarded the plastic bag and was left holding a very cute blue satin purse, square, on a long string. It fit my cell phone and a few other things perfectly. “It’s awesome!”

“Can you text him a picture of it and tell him to get something that will match?” she asked.

“I’m sure if what he gets me matches the dress, and this matches the dress, then it’ll all match,” I assured her.

“But I was looking forward to going shopping with you.” She sighed and sat on the futon. “All we’ve done is work work work all week.”

I didn’t mention that I’d done some other things, too, but I did say, “It’s okay, Becks. We’re going to spend some time together after all. He booked us spa appointments.”

She sat up straight. “Spa appointments?”

“A pedicure and facial for you and pedicure, hair, and makeup for me,” I said. “At the place he sent me once before. They’re really nice there.”

“Ooh! I’m liking him more and more. Will he be there? What am I supposed to call him?”

I realized I wasn’t so sure. “I don’t think he’ll be there,” I said. “And I’m not sure what you should call him. I call him ‘James,’ but even his staff doesn’t use that name. It’s…only for me.”

“Oooh. Special.” Becky’s eyes widened. “Well, obviously I can’t call him that. If I’m going to thank him, I want to be able to say, ‘Thank you, Mister So-and-So.’ Or whatever would be appropriate. Wait, are you telling me you still don’t know his last name?”

“I know who he
is
. He’s J. B. Lester, the glass artist, but no one’s supposed to know that’s him. I haven’t asked what alias I’m supposed to give people who aren’t in the know!”

Becky blinked. “Huh. Isn’t J. B. Lester a pseudonym? I can’t say ‘Mr. Lester’ if that’s supposed to be a secret, too. Especially if it would get you in trouble for telling me!”

“I don’t think he’ll be there,” I repeated. I was sure that he’d told me the truth, that his name was James and that he was the glass artist J. B. Lester, but he still hadn’t told me the whole story.

“So, what happens in a facial?” Becky asked.

“I haven’t the slightest idea, but it’s supposed to be fantas—”

“Do you smell something burning? Oh no! The toast!” She ran into the kitchen and unplugged the toaster, just as wisps of black smoke were starting to curl up from it. Her toast was fine, but the toaster itself was done for. “Well, I guess I can spend the money I was going to spend on shoes on a new one of these.”

We arrived at the spa at five, right before closing. This time Mandinka and another woman were there for the two of us. The big surprise was that Becky knew the other woman.

“Mistress Mischief!” she exclaimed when she caught sight of her. “Oh my gosh, I had no idea this was where you worked. Karina, this is one of my friends from the LL fan club.”

The woman had jet-black hair but very pale skin. “You can call me Jesse here, Becks,” she said as she led us to the changing stalls.

When I gave a questioning look, Becky said quickly, “Oh, see, lots of folks have fan names. They’re usually two words with the same letter, like Lord Lightning. So, um, yeah.” She was blushing a little.

Jesse let the cat out of the bag. “Becky’s fan name is Baroness Babelicious.”

“We were drinking at the time,” Becky said weakly as she shut the curtain, but we were all giggling about it by then, even her.

Becky had a facial while I got shaved, and then we both got pedicures, which made Becky shriek and giggle because of how ticklish her feet are. After that, all three of them hovered around me to do my hair and makeup. Okay, Becks mostly kibbitzed and made play-by-play commentary like, “Oh, that shade makes your whole face glow” and “Oh my God, so glam!”

They put the tiara on to sculpt my hair around it and ended up adding little jewels to my face and eyes. They also did something I’d never seen before. I mean, my idea of makeup was you brushed some red powder on your cheeks. They used a kind of bluish shadow not just on my eyes but also on various places on my face and down my neck and cleavage.

With the dress on, I have to admit it looked stunning.
I
looked stunning. The makeup made it seem like the dress and I fit together somehow, instead of it being something I put on. All the glittery crystals helped with that, too.

He hadn’t said one way or the other what to wear under the dress of course, so I wore nothing. No bra was necessary since so much support was built into it. And I figured if I was going to need underwear, he would bring it along with the shoes.

Which meant that when it was time to go, I suddenly realized, “Oh, should I put my sneakers back on to walk to the car?”

Becky shook her head sadly. “I still think it was a mistake to let a man pick out shoes.”

“Well, if his own clothes are anything to go by, he’s got very good taste,” I assured her, and Mandinka and Jesse backed me up.

While we were debating what I should do, someone knocked on the glass door.

My breath caught before I had a full look at him. He wore a midnight-blue jacket that went almost down to his knees. Unlike a regular tuxedo, this one had no lapels and a short collar, almost military-like. Instead of a regular necktie, he had a silvery-looking cloth knotted and pierced with a silver and diamond pin, and in one ear he had not one but two studs, one diamond and one sapphire. Stunning.

Mandinka unlocked the door and let him in. He kissed her hand, then came over to where Jesse, Becky, and I were standing by the counter.

He only had eyes for me. He dropped to one knee, kissed the back of my hand, and then rose, still holding my fingers lightly in his. “Shall we, madam?”

“Um, shoes?” I asked.

“If someone could get the door please?” he asked, and Jesse hurried to hold it open.

I squealed as he literally swept me off my feet. I held his neck tightly as he carried me to the door. I waved good-bye to Becky and then closed my eyes as we headed down the steps of the stoop and across the curb to the waiting car.

I had to let go to step into the limo, and it took some help from both him and Stefan to get the whole dress inside, but soon we were under way.

And of course he had found the perfect shoes, silver ballet flats. Why hadn’t I thought of those? They were silver leather with just a few rhinestones dotting the toe.

He had something else for me, too. He held out a flat velvet-covered box large enough to hold a small dinner plate.

“What’s this?” I asked, expecting to open it and find a rhinestone-studded dildo inside.

“Open it,” he said.

I lifted the lid. It took me a moment to register what I was seeing. Not a sex toy at all, but a fine silver necklace, worked to look like vines and tiny leaves, with bits of glass clinging to it like dewdrops, some clear, some blue. Then it hit me that they might not be glass, even given his penchant for it. “Are they real?” I breathed.

“Yes, they are. Sapphires and diamonds. Allow me?”

He took the box and lifted the necklace free, then undid the clasp. I turned so he could loop it around my neck.

“Gorgeous,” he said when I turned back around. “You are beyond a fairy princess right now.”

“No dildo tonight?”

He gave me one of his hawklike looks, his eyes alight with desire and excitement. “I was serious when I said the next thing you’ll have inside you is my cock.”

I swallowed, feeling the anticipation run straight through me. “Good. I suppose that means I don’t have to worry about you lending me to a gang bang.”

“Well, at least not first thing,” he teased.

At least I think he was teasing.

Stefan took us onto the highway and James took me into his arms and held me. The whoosh of the road noise was soothing and a little hypnotizing. I could feel where one of his hands was against the ribbing of the dress, warm and solid.

When I was a little girl, I once fell asleep in the car on the way home from a party. I think it was my sister’s christening day and we had a big party at my aunt Tera’s house. We stayed late. My sister got to sit in the front seat with my mom, because she got car sick easily and my parents believed she didn’t get as sick if she sat in the front. So in the back were me and my dad. Troy hadn’t been born yet.

My father was not an emotive man, but I remember his hand on my hair, petting me like a cat, and I sat thinking that was the most extraordinary feeling before I fell asleep.

I felt a little like that in the back of the car with him. There was so much affection in the way he held me.

Wasn’t he everything my mother told me a man should be? Caring, totally into me, and wealthy to boot?

I tried to imagine bringing this man, holding me while I dozed, home to meet her. “Yes, Mom, I’m totally head over heels for him, and he’s filthy rich!” Not that I’d say it that way, but that’s what she’d hear, and at least I knew that would go over well. The bit where he was a mysterious glass artist who did kinky performance art installations? Not so much. I wondered how he’d respond to her interrogation.