Vow of Silence (6 page)

Standing, I pull on my black leather skirt, skipping the
panties and shoving them into my purse.

“Miss, please don’t touch anything.”

I should probably be scared, or at least crying, but
strangely I’m not, I’m not anything. Except cold, freezing. I realize I am
shaking and sit down on a small desk chair to keep from falling over. I feel
stoned, higher than a psychedelic kite, the problem being I haven’t done any
drugs in years. Yet I have that floating, out-of-my-body feeling.

One of the police officers collects identification from
Rachel and myself. The other asks, “What’s his name?”

His pen is poised over a clipboard. The officer’s nametag
reads
A. Ortega
. I lift my eyes, meeting his hard gaze. He is young, A.
Ortega, dark hair and eyes, but behind the hardness in his eyes lies something
else. Not judgment, curiosity I think, curiosity that he is trying hard to keep
hidden.

“I-I don’t know, Officer Ortega.”

He opens his mouth and shuts it again before saying, “I
apologize, ma’am, I’m Officer Amistad Ortega. This is my partner, Officer Brian
Underwood.”

Ma’am? I’m not that old!

“You don’t know?” repeats his partner, eyeing the wrist
restraints still dangling from the ceiling. “Weren’t you with him tonight?”

Officer Underwood refuses to make eye contact with me. I
look pointedly at Officer Ortega. “Yes, I was with him. No, I do not know his
name.”

I really wish I didn’t have to relay this story. Again.
Telling Rachel was enough. “I met him online, his user name was Michael Four
Three Five. Beyond that, I can’t tell you anything.”

“Online? Like a dating service?” inquires Officer Ortega.

“Something like that,” I admit. Oh hell, this is going to be
a long night. “It’s a sex site for Dominants and submissives to hook up, you
know, to play.”

“I see.” Both officers look from Rachel, to the dead guy, to
the restraints hanging from the ceiling, to me. Curiosity flickers across
Officer Ortega’s face, but is quickly replaced with his professional, neutral
expression as he asks, “Ms. Marconi, did you have this man in restraints when
he died?”

“No sir. I was in the restraints. I was straddling him.”

“Could you be more detailed, ma’am?” Officer Underwood asks.

No. I don’t think I can. “Am I being charged with
something?”

Rachel intercedes. “More details, Officer?”

“We’re just trying to piece together what happened, Ms.—” He
tersely looks at his notes to come up with her name and I decide that I don’t
like him very much.

Rachel introduces herself. “I’m Rachel Carlisle, best
friend. The security guard can confirm that when we arrived, Gigi was in restraints.”

“So you weren’t here at the time of death, Ms. Carlisle?”
Officer Underwood’s pen flies over a notepad and Officer Ortega asks Rachel to
step outside since she wasn’t directly involved, though assuring her that he
will need her complete statement.

“No, Officer, I don’t think I will.”

“Are you saying that you intend to interfere with our
investigation, Ms. Carlisle?”

“No. I’m here to support my friend during this time of
emotional crisis.”

“Can you explain what your part was in tonight’s scenario,
ma’am?” Officer Underwood interrupts.

Oh good, Rachel got called ma’am too; that makes me feel
better
.

More than happy to let Rachel take the heat for a moment, I
pick at a lint ball on my shirt, avoiding looking at the white-sheet-covered
body lying on the bed across from me while I wait to be asked another question.
A coroner arrives and several detectives. The shift in power annoys Ortega and
Underwood but they step aside and let the detectives go to work. I am separated
from Rachel. She is led from the hotel room; I get to stay with the dead body,
which is already being photographed. I also get to repeat the answers to every
single question I’ve already answered.

The coroner lifts Michael435’s pants from the chair where
they’d been carelessly tossed. He withdraws his wallet and starts documenting
what he finds—identification, cash, credit cards. I know it’s too late for it
to matter but I wonder what his name is.
God, I can’t believe he’s dead.

I hear Rachel’s voice coming through the closed door. She must
be just outside, in the hallway. “I was her safety net, in case something went
wrong. If she didn’t answer her cell at the appointed time, I was supposed to
check on her in person, which is what I did when I came here tonight. I found
her in restraints with this man beneath her. She was obviously upset and he was
obviously dead.”

“We have a problem.” The coroner draws my attention back to
the room’s activity, but now that he has our undivided attention he doesn’t
elaborate.

I get a free ride downtown. Time speeds and slows at
alarming rates from that moment. I am hurried into the station and taken to an
interview room. Then I wait.

Wait, wait, wait.

Exhausted, I end up laying my head down on the table. A
homicide detective enters and slams a clipboard down on the tabletop, jerking
me awake. “Comfortable? Can I get you a pillow, perhaps?”

I slowly sit back. If he thinks he can intimidate me by
being a smart-ass he needs to try a different approach. Or maybe he could go
take classes from my mother and come back when he’s figured out how to do
menacing for real.

“Michael Gregory, age fifty-four, Des Moines, Iowa. Ring a
bell?”

I shrug.

The detective is only too happy to fill me in. “Senator
Michael Gregory, presidential hopeful. He announced his intentions this
morning. Are you going to deny any knowledge of that, Ms. Marconi?”

Maybe I’m being really naïve, but I’m desperately hoping I
can get out of this room without having to call Mommy’s lawyer, Archibald
Vanderwort. “No knowledge whatsoever. I’m sure that is in the notes taken by
the officer at the scene.”

“You honestly want me to believe you met a stranger at a
hotel room for sex?”

I roll my eyes.

“Did he pay you?”

“No!”

* * * * *

The sun is coming up over the city by the time I climb into
Rachel’s car, the admonishment to not leave town still ringing in my ears. The
good news is that I escaped without having to call Archie, making this just one
more sordid escapade that Mommy never has to know about. The bad news is
Rachel’s driving me home. One look at her face makes me wish I was still in the
small gray room being questioned by smart-ass detectives.

I have not even buckled in when she starts shrieking at me,
“On the internet, Gigi? Are you totally insane? You didn’t even know his real
name? Or where he was from? You’re lucky he wasn’t a dangerous criminal…or
diseased! Gigi! Are you listening to me?”

It vaguely passes through my brain that under normal
circumstances I would be laughing so hard that I would be crying over her
assumption that a senator wouldn’t be diseased or a criminal.

“Gigi!” she shouts, shaking my arm because I’m not paying
close enough attention, her voice having faded to the monotone “Wa-wa wa wa wa
wa,” of the schoolteacher in the Charlie Brown cartoons. “It could have been
you! You could have been the one taken away by the coroner tonight! You could
have died!”

“I wasn’t in danger, Rachel,” I defend, not understanding
why she can’t see that. I wait for her to start the engine, to pull into
traffic, to do anything that will put distance between me and the police
station, but she just sits staring at me. I push my head back against the
headrest and close my eyes. I am utterly exhausted, and the sweltering heat
inside the car saps what energy I had.

“God, it’s going to be a hot day. It must be approaching
ninety already. If we have to sit here, will you at least turn on the engine so
we can have some air?”

“Don’t try to change the subject! It’s August, it’s hot, get
over it.” She does start the engine and turns on the air vents.
Thank God
,
I think as a bead of sweat drips over my temple. I swipe it away, not looking
at her as she reiterates shrilly, “You had no way of knowing if you were going
to be safe. If the wrong man had met you there, you could have been the one
dead! Don’t you get it? I don’t want you dead!”

I look at her, really seeing her. For the first time ever I
realize how badly my actions terrify her. It won’t matter what I say, she will
never understand my need. I decide to lie to her, to protect her so she will be
able to go home and sleep at night, not worrying about where I am or what I’m
doing. “Rachel, stop, I get it. I’m sorry I scared the shit out of you. I’ve
been stupid, and you are completely one-hundred percent right. I’ve been
playing a dangerous game and I’ve been lucky.”

Isn’t it funny how promises that we make in the heat of
passion always come back to haunt us? Or maybe it’s just me. And maybe it isn’t
the promise but the lie cloaked as a ruse of assurance that is so dangerous,
because I know even as I tell Rachel, “This will never happen again,” that I am
not agreeing I will never meet another stranger for a kinky play session, I am
only promising I will never involve her again. I also think that without Rachel
watching my back, I may not be as lucky next time. I must be insane, because
even so severe a consequence will not keep me from playing. I tell Rachel, “I
will find a safer way to indulge my desire to play. This is San Francisco;
there are lots of sane, kinky people in this town to play with. I can tone it down.
I can play safe.”

She drove me home. Maybe she even believed my lies.

I’m like an addict in that regard. Alcoholics lie about
their booze, addicts will tell you anything to get money for their next score.
Except I’m not a sex addict.

George

Jasper is already seated at the large table in the
conference room when I arrive. I hope he can’t tell how nervous I am about
this. My stomach is in my throat. I want nothing more than to wake up and
discover the last few months have been a bad dream. I want Garrett to come
back. I want our old normal. Looking at Jasper, I think he wants the same
thing.

He is surrounded by proofs and whiteboards, flushed with
either dread or excitement and on the edge of his seat.

I sit so that we face each other. “Show me what you’ve got.”

“Bedlam,” he says and immediately pulls out drawings for the
new signage. It is over the top, flashy, brightly lit. He then proceeds to
billboards and advertising layouts.

By the time he points to the whiteboard mockups to show me
his ideas for revamping Lewd Larry’s, I’m starting to see
my
club…and I
suddenly worry what Lin’s reaction will be.

God. Why am I even thinking this? Lin has nothing,
absolutely nothing, to do with this club, with this part of my life.
She
would probably disagree with that argument.

My thoughts go to Thomas Stephanopolis. He did it, being a
husband to Latisha, father to his children and balancing his alter ego Lord
Fyre.
How did he ever do it? Balancing a wife and a family with his
deviance? I wish he were here.
I never thought I’d say
that
.

Jasper says, “The Attic would be renamed The Asylum and The
Oasis Dining Room would become The Operating Room.”

I can barely breathe, looking at his proposal for the
members-only level. The pet floor cushions and soft lighting replaced with
stainless steel and fluorescence. The mostly nude servers would be dressed as
sexy nurses, white uniforms and thigh-highs for the women, white t-shirt and
white pants for the men. “Our current clientele will be alienated.”

“There’s proof of a fairly significant shift of local fetish
interests in recent years supporting the medical theme,” Jasper explains,
adding gently, “I’ve never seen you with a pet, Mr. Kirkpatrick. I assumed your
interests might lie in a different direction.”

He’s right. I don’t own a pet. I find the fetish exhausting.

“It won’t be Lewd Larry’s anymore,” I whisper, fighting a
wave of nausea. I only notice my hand is shaking when Jasper covers it with his
own in an attempt to comfort me.

“You’re right. It will be Doctor Psycho’s realm.”

“And what about the needs of the kitties and puppies out
there? Am I just supposed to kick them to the curb?”

“No, of course not, but their numbers are fewer than the
medical fetishists, and even though there is some crossover, I would propose
expanding the current Puppy Pound with a redesign to support the needs of our
loyal members.” He flips to another sketch. “We could call it The Animal
Hospital. Keeping with the medical theme, we would have Examination Rooms and
offer a second smaller dining room, The Waiting Room, with floor cushions and
tables, elevator music if you insist.”

I smirk. The soft classical music that is so peaceful to so
many in the Oasis obviously isn’t Jasper’s cup of tea.

“The truth is we’re in a recession and fewer people are
tossing around the big bucks for high-priced champagne and Cuban cigars. By
offering a more realistic menu at The Waiting Room, dinner numbers might even
improve. Open it up to non-members so more people can see and experience the
canine-feline fetish.”

Nervous, I ask, “But the Operating Room will remain
five-star and members-only?”

“Three star, members-only,” he suggests.

I sigh heavily and pick up the drawing for the proposed
Operating Room. I like it. Actually, I get hard just thinking about it. “Too
much fluorescence. Keep the soft lighting throughout the room but over each
table install round operating lights that are fully adjustable between bright
and dim.”

“So we can begin?”

My head is nodding in tiny bobs but I still can’t say the
words.

“You should schedule three months of downtime with a grand
reopening.”

“Close Lewd Larry’s completely? No. That would be
disastrous.”

“You’ll lose the wow factor if you make the changes in
increments.”

“We can’t afford to close the doors completely.”

“Thirty days?” Jasper implores. “And keep the public nightclub
open.”

I shake my head. “We can’t lose the cash flow from the
private sessions in The Attic.”

“Aside from a name change, little will change on the fourth
floor. Maybe new carpet, different lighting and music. We could do all those
things on our closed days. I could schedule the switch from The Attic to The
Asylum to happen this Sunday and Monday. We’ll make the announcement that The
Oasis and Puppy Pound will be closed for two weeks for renovations and extend
everyone’s membership for one month for the inconvenience.”

I push my fingers through my hair nervously. “Are we doing
the right thing?”

“It’s what Garrett wanted.”

“I just have doubts.”

“Mr. Kirkpatrick, we both saw the will. Joel and Morgana
confirmed it was his handwriting.”

I know. I know. I just don’t want to believe it.
“Do
what you have to do.”

He knows he’s been dismissed, and I’m sure he thinks my foul
mood is entirely fueled by the changes he proposed. If he only knew.

I’m completely overwhelmed. All I can think about is Lin.

I clear my calendar, making changes to the schedule as
needed to allow me some time away. I should have done this weeks ago. My mind
hasn’t been in a good place since being informed of Garrett and Celia’s deaths.

I need a vacation.

* * * * *

I’m losing my mind, but just to prove it to myself I show up
unexpectedly at Lin’s studio. She answers the door wearing flame-retardant
overalls and goggles, irritation plain on her face—until she sees it is me. She
smiles widely, pushing her goggles up on top of her head. Her face is smudged
and she isn’t wearing any makeup but her beauty glows.

“George! What a nice surprise.”

“I hardly believe that. You appeared ferocious when you
opened the door.”

She laughs and pulls me inside. “I’m so sorry. I’ve had
nothing but interruptions all day and my showing is very soon.”

“I shouldn’t be here.”

“Nonsense. You are a welcome interruption. I needed to take
a break anyway. Sit, I’ll make us some tea.”

I don’t sit on the futon offered. I follow her to the small
kitchenette and watch her fill a teapot with water.

“Something is wrong. What is it?” She lights the gas burner
and faces me.

“I’m glad you called me. I’m so glad we reconnected.”

She frowns and I realize she must think I am about to end
the relationship, but that is the last thing on my mind.

“I’ve recently realized how out of balance my life is. Being
with you has shown me just how one-sided my life is. I’ve become all work and
no play.”

She tends the teapot but I know she is still listening.

“If we are going to pursue a relationship, I need to come
clean with you. I’m the sole owner of the nightclub known as Lewd Larry’s.”

She pivots jerkily to face me. “What? The place you work?
You own this place?”

“Yes.”

I can tell by her shocked expression she is even less
impressed to learn this bit of news than when she discovered what I did for a
living.

“You lied to me?”

“No. This is recent. The owner died and left the business to
me.”

She looks relieved. “You could close the business? Sell it?
Reopen your medical practice?”

Oh God. How did her mind leap to that conclusion?

“No, Lin.” I try to sound patient, “I’m not selling. I’m not
reopening my psychiatric practice.”

Her face drops, her disappointment evident. “Oh. I thought you
might… Well, I guess it doesn’t matter what I thought.”

I cup her cheeks in my hands, lifting her face to force her
to meet my gaze. “I enjoy our time together, Lin, and I need to know if you are
going to be able to deal with the man I am.”

“The man you are?”

“Yes, Doctor Psycho.”

“Your stage persona?”

I lead her to a chair and we sit. I hold her hand. “Doctor
Psycho is more than just a stage persona. It’s who I am now. I can pretend to
be normal George Kirkpatrick when I’m with you, but the truth is, that guy is
more fabricated than the man I am at work, and in the weeks to come that will
become even more true.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The name of the club is being changed from Lewd Larry’s to
Doctor Psycho’s Bedlam.”

She blinks at me.

“We are completely redesigning the club and launching a
major advertising campaign. As we transition the club, my role is going to
become center stage. I’ll become more recognizable around town.”

The teapot whistles and she stands to pour the water into a
ceramic container. She adds the tea and waits while it steeps, not looking at
me. “Why are you telling me this? So I won’t freak out when I see your face
plastered over billboards?”

I actually hadn’t considered
my face
stretched ten
feet high.

She pours tea into two dainty cups as if she hadn’t just
asked hard-to-answer questions. Standing, I walk over to her and prevent her
from putting the cups on the small bamboo tray. “I want to know if you will be
too embarrassed to be seen with me, and of course we must consider what repercussions
there will be if your grandmother learns of our relationship.”

“Our relationship?”

“I want to be with you—every available second—I think I’m
falling in love with you.”

She meets my gaze but shakes her head. “You think?”

“Lin.” I kiss her so as not to leave a doubt. “I love you.”

There, I said it. I’ve proved my insanity. After a year of
veiled conversations, limited intimacy and sexual barriers I see no way around,
I’ve admitted my feelings.

Why now?

Why not now?

“I was just at a meeting with the guy who is helping me with
the redesign and I could barely focus. I kept thinking about you and how you
were going to react to the changes that are happening in my life. I kept
thinking about making love to you last night…in my bed…and you have no idea how
significant that is but it has been over a decade since I’ve enjoyed that kind
of intimacy. I realized I would be a happier man if I slept beside you every
night.”

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t know exactly, other than to say I want you to be
part of my life.”

Lin moves the cups to the tray and carries the service to a
low table. She gestures for me to sit on a floor cushion.
I guess we’re
having tea.

I sit. She sits. We both sip tea.

Hiding behind her cup, she admits, “I was working very hard
today. I was hammering metal, really pounding it with every ounce of my being,
even though it was unnecessary work, all because I wanted to stop thinking
about what happened in your kitchen. I can see it in my head. My feet in
stirrups. You, wearing a mask and rubber gloves. The speculum.” She looks away,
blushing. “I thought about you invading my body with tools and fingers,
believing some of it might hurt or be uncomfortable. I thought about the
humiliation and embarrassment…”

“We’ll take your introduction to kink slow,” I promise.

“And what if I hate it?”

“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”

I unzip her jumpsuit and she struggles.

“I’ve been working. I’m hot and sweaty.”

I kiss her chest between her breasts. She smells warm and
musky, womanly.

“I stink, George!”

“Mmm, you smell edible.”

I pull her arms free and keep forcing the material down.
Beneath the coverall she is wearing a clingy tank top and shorts. Bending over
her, I push up her top to scatter kisses on her midriff. Her scent fills the
air and I inhale theatrically. “You smell horny.”

She giggles. “Being near you keeps me horny.”

I pull down the coveralls and shorts in a swift action,
working the fabric free of her heavy work boots. I step back to look at her in
just the white wifebeater and black boots. “God, you are so sexy.”

Her lips part but she doesn’t say anything. I realize she is
panting, obviously as hot for me as I am for her.

“It hardly seems fair that you are still wearing all of your
clothes.”

I grin lecherously. “I think I promised you pain the last
time we were together. More specifically that I was going to help you find
pleasure in pain.”

Her eyes widen. I love the combined look of curiosity and
fear. I drink it in before leaning in to kiss her.

“Tell me you want me.”

“I want to take a shower.”

Behind her ear, I inhale deeply. “You smell like a hot,
horny woman.”

She pushes against my chest. “You can shower with me.”

I hold her tightly and work my way down her body. I push my
face between her breasts and inhale again. “Mmm, salty.”

She struggles hard, but I am a master of controlling human
bodies. She isn’t about to escape my grasp. I lick my way down her torso. I
push my face into the downy softness of her pubic hair. I sniff loudly, like a
hound on the trail. Lower and lower. Until my mouth is poised directly over her
clit.

“You smell good.” I expose and lick the bud of her sex.

“Oh God, George. I’ve never been so hot and bothered
before.”

I slide my tongue between the lips of her labia.

“I need you! I want you naked. I want you inside me.”

Ignoring her request, I keep licking and slide a single
finger inside her.

“Oh.”

I thrust gently, strengthening the intensity of my thrusts
to match the needy rhythm of her bucking hips.

“Please, George, please.”

I curl my finger to press into the spongy flesh over her
G-spot and she responds wildly. She pushes against my hand and mouth.