With or Without You (18 page)

Now, I gave her more.

With my mouth alone, I touched her. I did not use my hands, my fingers. I was not bound as she was, but I did bind myself. I refused to stroke her skin, to touch her hair. Kissing was the only method I employed and, in moments, she was moaning, sighing sweetly as the wind.

I could hear her longing in my head, as if she were speaking from within my very soul. I could hear each thing that she craved, and I made sure that I honoured every one of her silent requests.

This was not my first time to behave in such a manner. I have always enjoyed binding a girl when I make love to her. Did this young sprite know of my past? I could not ask her, for in truth, I did not want to know. Instead, I told myself that we were two of the same, made for each other. Matching one another in our desires. She, wanting to be my captive. I, desiring to be her master.

The kisses I gave her seemed to illuminate her being from within. Her body moved against mine, and I saw with the rocking of her hips that she was ready for me, that she needed me.

She needed me as I needed her.

It was time for me to stop these childish games. These kissing games. I drew back my own robes, revealing the hardness there. With a deep breath, I moved forwards, giving her all that she required.

I didn’t say anything else for a moment, my mind consumed immediately by an image of Anthony tying me up. Would he truly be into something like that? Byron hadn’t been. At least, not with me. Perhaps, with Gwen. I didn’t know for sure whether or not he liked this sort of sexplay. It simply wasn’t something that had ever come up as a possibility between us.

‘What are you thinking?’ Anthony asked when he saw that I was no longer reading.

What was I thinking?

I couldn’t tell him that I’d just been wondering about my ex and his new love. But that image didn’t remain in the front of my mind. The thoughts were almost too complicated for me to unravel. From the way Anthony was staring at me, focused intently on my expression, he seemed genuinely interested. Once again, I wondered whether this could possibly be some sort of test he’d created. Maybe the text had been mundane: laundry lists, grocery items, everyday nonsense that wasn’t special at all other than the fact that it was three thousand years old. But would Anthony be the type to engineer that sort of scam? I knew there were practical jokesters in our midst. Was he one of them?

‘Come on, Eleanor. What are you thinking?’

‘I can’t believe this is real.’ That was a fact, although it sounded rather lame to say. Sure, it was real. I had the papers right in front of me. But that’s not exactly what I meant, and Anthony understood.

‘Of course, I was surprised, as well, but you must have read about the hedonism of the time.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘There was wildness in some of the ancient fertility festivals, with everyone whipping each other with tied birch branches. I’ve read about the decadent parties way back when, parties that would have given Hollywood parties a run for their money.’

I nodded, still feeling sceptical. ‘You think it’s about a prostitute?’

He shrugged. ‘There were words I didn’t know:
hetairai
,
deikteriades
. I looked them up and learned that they were levels of prostitutes, which helped immensely. I’ve skimmed ahead, and I think I understand the gist of the story.’

‘There’s a story? It’s not just … you know …’

He grinned. ‘Well, there’s definitely more sex. But I think there’s more to it than that. From what I can tell, most of the entries seem to be about this girl who was brought to the house of a famous madam. The girl’s father had been told prior to her birth that she was destined to be an important person in society. He had assumed she’d be born a male, and when she wasn’t, he simply waited until she was of age, and then – I don’t know – dropped her off at this whorehouse. But they weren’t exactly whorehouses. There wasn’t quite the stigma. These women were learned, and they served the goddesses: Aphrodite, Athena, Hera.’

I listened without truly hearing his words. Yes, he talked a good game. But what if he
had
written this up just for me? Was that really a problem? I was indescribably turned on by the images I’d read. Could I admit that to Anthony? I tried a trick I’ve learned from Nora. I turned his questions back on himself.

‘What do
you
think of it all?’ I countered, twirling one strand of hair around my finger nervously while I waited for his response.

‘Unexpected,’ he admitted, ‘but sexy.’ Another pause. ‘Like you.’

If Nora hadn’t called right then, I don’t know what I would have done. Turned beet red, perhaps. Choked on the new glass of Chardonnay the waitress had just brought. Run for the ladies’ room to regain my sense of control.

Instead, I was quite literally saved by the bell – the tinkling bell of my cell phone – and I quickly rummaged through my simple black leather purse to find the little
ringing device. Anthony watched with bemusement as I pulled item after item out of my handbag. I’m organised, yes, but I rarely use my cellphone, so it occasionally disappears beneath the detritus of my purse. It looked as if I’d done an archaeological dig of my own by the time I found the little silver device and checked the number. On the table were a gold compact, my one and only lipstick, a silk handkerchief, a pen and notebook, my black leather wallet – Anthony began toying with the items while I looked at the LED display on the phone.

If it were Byron, I would not have answered, but when I saw the caller was Nora, I said, ‘This will just be a second,’ and brought the phone to my ear.

‘Where are you?’ Nora asked.

‘Osborne’s.’

‘Why aren’t you here yet?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘They’re already starting getting ready for tonight’s casting, Eli. There are all sorts of people here. I thought you’d definitely come. I need you.’

I hesitated for a moment. My mind had been so consumed by my own existence for the past 24 hours that I’d forgotten the constant drama that surrounds Nora.

‘What for?’ I asked.

‘What do you mean, what for? Because I need you.’ Rarely, have I ever heard Nora sound that stressed. Excited? Definitely. Enthusiastic? Of course. But she manages her stress in such an amazing Zen-like way that I am in constant awe of her. Now, her voice was cracking and she sounded desperate.

Still, I hesitated for another beat. I didn’t know what to do. It would be rude for me to tear out of the restaurant right now. ‘Can I bring Anthony?’

‘Bring whomever you want,’ she said, ‘just get the hell over here.’

Anthony was charmed by the idea. ‘A reality show? At Nora’s club?’

I nodded, watching as he easily manoeuvred his gigantic convertible through the light evening traffic. As soon as I’d explained the situation, he’d paid the bill – even though I was the one who’d promised him dinner – and herded me into the car.

‘And what does the winner get?’

‘Nora lost her best bartender last year. The winner gets to take Vlad’s place.’

‘I’m assuming that means more than simply pouring drinks for starving starlets.’

‘Well, Vlad moved on to his own talk show this season on the Bijoux Network, so the position can definitely be a step up. He is also the spokesman for a new pineapple-infused vodka, and I think Nora mentioned that there is a menswear line courting him.’

‘From a bartender to talk-show host?’ Anthony appeared incredulous.

‘You know the skills bartenders have to have. They listen, they have good memories, they never forget a tip or the face that goes with it.’

Anthony grinned. ‘You sound like you know something about the business.’

I shook my head. ‘Only through Nora. I’m awful at remembering names and faces.’

‘But you’re insanely good about remembering dates of artwork.’

‘Art’s easy for me. People are difficult. I’m so impressed with the staff at Nora’s club. I can’t even remember what alcohol goes into which drink. I rarely stay up late unless I’m working on a tough project. Flat out, I’d never be able to work at a club.’

We had arrived and the bouncer made eye contact with me and waved us in.

He knows me by now. Anthony seemed impressed, but as soon as we entered the club, I heard a shriek that could only be Nora.

‘Who the fuck let them in?’

I stared at Nora, confusion coursing through me. At first, I thought that she meant me and Anthony. But how could she? That would have made no sense at all. She’d invited us here, demanded that we come – and besides that, we’re best friends. Then I realised that she wasn’t looking at me. She was staring over my shoulder, her face contorted with rage. I haven’t seen Nora look that displeased too many times in my life. Thankfully, I’ve never been the one on the receiving end of her anger.

When I looked over my shoulder, I felt as if my heart had stopped.

There on the huge movie screen behind the dance floor were Byron and Gwen, larger than life, locked in a clinch right out of a triple-X movie. Gwen’s glistening mane of wheat-blonde hair fell loose past her shoulders – her noticeably
bare
shoulders. She looked as if she’d been dipped in cinnamon, her skin uniformly bronze.

When did this woman have the time to get her hair blown out, get her brows arched, her teeth whitened? How did she manage to maintain a high-powered law career and still look as flawlessly sexy if she’d walked right off the cover of
Maxim
?

And what in God’s name did she see in Byron?

That was answered quickly enough. She saw a willing, able man who would follow her anywhere she chose to drag him. Sure, there are many wandering souls searching for leaders in Los Angeles, but maybe not as many as gullible as Byron. He had an expression on his face that made me think he would trail after her like a puppy, any
place she named. And right now, that location was the Cinéma Vérité room.

While I – and two hundred of my closest strangers – watched, Gwen slid her lanky body along Byron’s, slowly, seductively moving to the beat. Was she wearing anything at all? The camera captured her naked back, her hair falling down nearly to her waist.

‘Who the fuck –’ Nora continued, on an absolute rampage. I watched briefly as she stalked towards the front doors of the club, and then I realised that I was gripping into Anthony’s hand so hard that my nails must have left marks in his skin. I released him and tried my best to apologise, but he shook his head. I wanted to tell him what was going on. I wanted to explain. He didn’t seem to need to hear the words. Instead, he led me to the bar and ordered us each a drink.

‘My ex –’ I started.

‘I recognised him already,’ he said simply. ‘He showed up sporadically at ARTSI events, right? I have to admit, I never really understood what you saw in him. I tried to talk with him one time about a Jackson Pollack piece we had on loan, and he had this theory that if he could do it himself –’

‘I know –’ I couldn’t hide the grin, just talking with Anthony was making me feel better ‘– then it wasn’t art.’

Anthony nodded.

‘And you know,’ I continued, ‘Nora’s my best friend, and she owns the club.’

He toasted me, forcing the drink into my hand. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘You really don’t have to explain.’

Maybe not, but I couldn’t stop looking over my shoulder, staring at the movie screen, mesmerised. Gwen had undone Byron’s belt buckle with her teeth. The woman literally had no shame. Just like Nora had no fear. I watched now as the door to the not-so-private room burst open and there stood Nora, bolstered by her two largest bouncers. She’d gone outside to get the men as back-up support, and the two bodybuilders looked like
a pair of Herculean bookends standing on either side of the nymphet that is Nora.

The motion on the dance floor came to a stop as we all watched in unison as the drama unfolded. I’d never seen anything like this in Nora’s club before. Yes, things get rowdy every once in awhile. That’s why Nora has bouncers in the first place. But I’d never seen her personally eject a customer while all eyes were upon her. I watched, my heart racing, as Byron and Gwen were escorted from the Cinéma Vérité room. When Gwen turned around, I saw that she had on a tiny little tank top, the slim spaghetti straps of which had been hidden by her hair. So she hadn’t been naked – she’d just looked naked.

Once the two were off the camera, the movie screen was taken over by a video clip, a crisp black-and-white montage of screen sirens from yesteryear.

‘Why’d he have to come here?’ I murmured, more to myself than the man at my side.

‘The Pink Fedora?’ Anthony responded. ‘It’s the place to be – at least, it is according to the
LA Weekly
. The club of the hour.’

Nora appeared at the bar, looking breathless. Her cheeks were flushed, but that added to her beauty. I saw that she’d dyed her hair pink, and she was wearing a sheer fedora, one made of Lucite or some similar hard synthetic material. It wasn’t glass, was it? I could just imagine Nora dressing like Cinderella, with a glass hat instead of a glass slipper. What would she leave behind at the stroke of midnight? Nothing. The club would only be getting started at that hour.

She gave Anthony a half-grin, Cheshire catlike, and then said, ‘I’m sorry for the uproar.’ I understood her smile. She wasn’t sorry at all. Nora lives for scenes like this. If she felt bad in the slightest, it was because I was involved. She never likes to see me hurt.

‘You’re not sorry at all,’ he said with a similar smile. He seemed to understand Nora very well, even if he didn’t know her personally.

‘You’re right. That was the most fun I’ve had all week.’

‘Why did they come here?’ I asked Nora, unable to stop myself.

‘You know why,’ she said.

I shook my head. I didn’t.

‘Because you told him that she didn’t really love him. He’s trying to show you that you’re wrong.’

‘By having sex with her in front of a bunch of club kids?’

Now, she shrugged. ‘I’ve never pretended to know what makes your ex tick,’ she said, ‘I’m just saying why I think he did that.’