With or Without You (23 page)

She nodded. Then, finding her voice, she whispered, ‘What is it? Where did you get this?’ She hesitated. ‘Is it some sort of joke, Eleanor?’

‘Why do you ask that?’

‘I mean, it’s ancient Greek. But the stuff is so dirty … It’s like something the
Harvard Lampoon
might try to pull. I remember there was this guy in my Latin class who used to do stuff like this for the tests. We were supposed to write something original in Latin, and he would create these scenarios that seemed plucked from modern soap operas. Our teacher was horrified. That’s what this reminds me of, except it’s far dirtier. But is it real?’

‘Yeah, it’s real,’ I assured her, and she took a step closer to me.

‘Well, it’s completely wild. I was blushing so badly when I translated it, I was sure someone would catch on to me. I mean, it was clear that I wasn’t working on something boring.’ Now she looked around my office, closed the door, then came back to the desk and leaned over it. ‘Do you have any other pages? Do you have more for me to do after this? Do you, Eleanor?’ In her voice, hushed but somewhat desperate sounding, I had the distinct feeling that I had done something horrible. ‘Do you, please?’

‘Nothing else,’ I said. ‘Not yet. I’m still digging through some papers, though, so I’ll let you know.’

She continued to stare at me longingly, but when I didn’t saying anything else, she opened the door and fled from the office. Had she thought I was coming on to her? Had I done to her what I’d feared Anthony had done to
me? Seduced her with pornography literally thousands of years old and made her want something from me that I wasn’t prepared to give. I’d heard that she had had a crush on Anthony – but that was just office gossip. Maybe she was gay, or bi like Nora.

I probably should have worried a little more about what I’d done, but I didn’t linger on it for too long. Instead, I started to fantasise again immediately after Marcia had left my office. I almost couldn’t wait to touch myself, sinking into my chair, sliding my pants down to get them out of the way. It was becoming a routine for me now. Fuck off at work, literally and figuratively. The visions appeared quickly even before I shut my eyes. It was like coming into a movie that had already started – sitting in a darkened theatre, heart beating too fast as the picture rolled on the screen before me.

One of the best things about fantasies is how they change. You can find something you enjoy, something that titillates you, and then you can mould it, work with it, add and subtract characters. Change the setting, the time of day, the entire scenario. Blondes become brunettes in an instant, no trip to the salon necessary. Bedrooms become outdoor gardens. Sweet and tender romping becomes bondage and dominance, blindfolds and cuffs.

This time, I pictured myself back in Nora’s club, after hours. I saw myself in the Cinéma Vérité room, all alone. The room is small and mirrored, so that it has the illusion of being filled with whomever stands inside of it. Music was playing, not by Peaches this time, which is much more Nora’s speed than mine. No, I was listening to the Stones – ‘Under My Thumb’, one of my favourite songs.

In this fantasy, I started to move, my body sexy – except that I was still clad in work clothes. But that wasn’t right. Why would I have on a suit to go to Nora’s club? For an instant, I saw myself in the outfit Nora had worn at Queen’s Road, covered in graffiti from head to
toe. But that wasn’t anything I’d ever wear, couldn’t feel comfortable in a piece of clothing that looked as if it belonged on a wall rather than on my body.

In rapid succession, I envisioned myself in a wide range of outfits: one covered in pictures from the Cirque du Soleil, one made of all turquoise leather. This was an outfit I’d seen in Nora’s closet, dyed leather but not butter soft or faded. Hard and crisp like people who ride motorcycles wear. Not me.

I could be naked –
there
was an idea – but once I envisioned myself without any clothes on, I was confronted by all those similar images of my naked body reflected and re-reflected. In an instant, my fantasy self looked more uncomfortable than ever. I needed clothes. Sexy clothes. Something I would actually wear.

Even in my fantasies, my mental closet was filled with black.

For inspiration, I thought of my favourite outfits of Nora’s. Nora’s closets (yes, plural, closets!) are filled with her fantastic wardrobe. She has the best high heels, the most decadent coats, boots that range from ankle length to thigh high. Maybe, at least in my fantasy, I could dress like Nora.

I tried to imagine myself in a pink fedora, and even my fantasy self started laughing. How crazy was this? What did I do when I was with Byron? My mind had been on autopilot during our Thursday night sex sessions. I’d thought of the people down below on the beach, the ones who might see us. But I’d never really delved much more than that.

Yes, I’d touched myself occasionally, especially in the shower, but mostly I’d thought about Anthony’s Christmas kiss – and, again, the people who were watching.

Now, I pictured Anthony standing in the centre of the club, watching the movie screen that showed all of my transformations. Then I imagined hearing him walk down the hall towards me.

Waiting for Anthony to join me. I sketched out this illusion in great detail.

What to wear? What to wear?

Suddenly inspired, I dressed myself in an outfit I’d seen at a fetish store on Santa Monica Boulevard in West Hollywood – one called Don’t You Want To? I’d never been inside the store, but the daring ensemble had caught my eye and I’d stood before the window, staring at it. Now, I visualised myself wearing the merry widow made of intensely shiny red and black vinyl, the red fishnet thigh highs and dangerously high red heels. Something about the surface of the vinyl made me think decadent thoughts. I wondered what would happen when the outfit got wet. I wondered what would happen when I got wet inside it. Would the costume stretch over me as I moved, as I bent in it, as I made love? If I stood out in the rain with a lover, would the water glide off the plastic coating, bead up and run to the hem like silver tears?

I pictured myself with my light-brown hair up, curls falling around my face. My mental self wore more make-up than I ever wear, as if I’d used the cosmetics I’d seen at Nora’s. The eyelash curler and mascara. The liquid liner. That dark-red lipstick of Nora’s that she likes so much – Tainted Love – a robust red like the inside of a velvety rose.

I felt uncomfortable, waiting. This was my fantasy, why couldn’t I speed things up? The answer was obvious. I could, but I didn’t truly want to. I wanted it to go slowly, like the climax had for the woman in the journal. I wanted to feel myself grow more and more aroused from just thinking about my lover – the soldier – knowing he was on his way to join me.

The door in my daydream was closed instead of open, and there was a knock. Anthony didn’t barge in.

‘Yes?’ I called out. No response. Then the door opened slowly, and there he stood. His hair was down. He had on a white T-shirt and faded jeans. Anthony’s body is
intensely strong. He looked amazing like that and, for an instant, I wanted to tear his clothes off him, to skip to the good part, but instead I forced myself to go slowly. I watched as he looked me up and down. My heart raced, wanting to see his response, hoping that he would appreciate my outfit. Finally, he smiled.

‘Naughty girl,’ Anthony said. ‘You know that everyone can see you out there. Everyone on the dance floor is watching you. Watching you dance. Watching you touch yourself. Watching you dress and undress. Everyone is watching … Such a slut.’ He shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe it. ‘Do you know what happens to bad girls like yourself, Eleanor?’

I wanted to speak but couldn’t. No words would come out.

‘They get spanked.’ This was a surprise. I hadn’t known I was going to go there. Perhaps what Nora had said at lunch the other day had affected me. She’s always been open with me about her likes and dislikes. And, truly, I can’t remember any of her sexual dislikes. She enjoys the whole world of sex. The whole intense range of possibilities.

Could I?

The way he said the word ‘spanked’ made me want to come. Immediately. Right there. No touching. No nothing. I shuddered, in my fantasy and in reality. I wanted to hear him say that word again. I wanted to know exactly what that word meant. I wanted to learn the definition with my mind and with my body, memorise it like I had memorised definitions of words for the SATs before high school.

‘Here?’ I whispered.

‘Here,’ he said, but suddenly ‘here’ wasn’t here, wasn’t at the Pink Fedora. We were in a new room, a room I’d never even seen before – Anthony’s room.

Anthony came to the edge of the bed and sat down at my side. Gently, he pulled me until I was draped over his knees. In this outfit, I was exposed to him, my ass
covered only by the two slim ribbons of garters. Anthony rested one hand on my naked skin and then said, ‘You have been a bad girl, haven’t you, Eleanor?’

And now, since it was a fantasy, Anthony suddenly had a wooden-backed hairbrush in his hand. He set it against my naked skin so that I could feel the smooth shiny surface, cold against me.

‘Haven’t you, Eleanor?’

I sighed, but didn’t answer.

‘I asked you a question.’ His voice made me weak.

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘yes, I have.’ Had I? Masturbating in my office. Giving Marcia the pages to retranslate as a test. Just
having
this fantasy seemed bad, seemed naughty, seemed reason enough for Anthony to spank me. In fantasies, you rarely need more than that. In
my
fantasies, at least, I can do with much less than that.

‘Are you ready for your spanking?’

I didn’t want to answer, but I did, my voice hushed. Hoarse. Not my voice at all. Someone else’s voice. Some naughty young girl who had done all these bad things and who needed to atone for her sins, who needed to be punished for them. ‘Yes, Anthony.’

‘I’m going to give you ten. You count them for me. Count them out loud. Even if you think you can’t. Even if you’re crying. Otherwise, I’ll have to start again, Eleanor. Right back at the very beginning. But maybe that’s what you want.’

I came before I’d counted to two.

Then I sat at my desk for a long time, wondering what I was doing, what had come over me. Who was I? I turned and caught a glimpse of my reflection in the glass frame of one of my prints. Seeing the heated, haunted look to my face, I realised that I hardly recognised myself at all.

Nora needed me. That’s what she said on my cellphone voicemail.

‘I need you, Eleanor. I know you’ve got a lot going on, but I need you.’

I called her back at the end of the day to find out what was going on. That was the first time I’d checked my messages because I was avoiding the ones from Byron. She answered immediately.

‘The perfume launch,’ she said. ‘The company has decided to coincide the new perfume with the announcement of the winners for
You Can Leave Your Hat On
. I knew it before, but I didn’t really put it together.’

‘Aren’t you pleased?’

‘Sure, it’s great. But I don’t have anything to wear!’

I had to laugh. I’d spent the afternoon, or at least part of it, fantasising about Nora’s clothes. Her claiming that she had nothing to wear would be like me stating that I didn’t have any books to read. The concept didn’t compute.

‘I don’t,’ she wailed, as if reading my mind. ‘I can’t wear something I’ve been photographed in before.’

‘That shouldn’t be a problem for you. You never wear the same thing twice.’

‘Yes, but I can’t even wear different items I’ve put together before. This has to be entirely unique.’

‘Well, why don’t you wear the same outfit you had on for the advertising shoot they did for the perfume. I’m sure they’ll have the ad spread up, right? Then you’ll look just like you did on the shoot.’

There was silence.

‘Come on, Nora. What did you wear for that? You didn’t tell me.’

‘A pink fedora.’

‘And?’

Again, there was a silence on the phone.

‘Oh, my God. Were you naked?’

‘It’s tastefully done. Don’t worry. It was great, though. Do you remember that gorgeous spread of Kate Moss? I think it was in
Vogue
. She was totally naked on this furlike rug. I don’t know whether it was real fur, or not, and the caption said that she was wearing Dona Karan’s Cashmere body lotion.
That’s
what the fashion spread was for. As if you could smell the scent of her.’

‘So your ad campaign is like that?’

‘No. It’s totally different. No rug. And I’m not sprawled out, showing off my ass. But all I have on is the hat. You’ll understand when you see it.’

I couldn’t help but smile. ‘I can see why you don’t want to wear that.’

‘Stop teasing me. You have to help me, Eli. We have to go shopping!’

Shopping with Nora is an experience in itself. Being her consultant is always a wild ride. Nora doesn’t shop like a normal person, as might be expected.

With a phone call, she made sure that several of her favourite stores would stay open for her. These were places in Hollywood that she tended to drop a fortune in whenever she visited. The shopkeepers were more than happy to help her out in her time of need.

We had plans to visit a leather store, a vintage shop and a place that made jewellery from the chrome bumpers of antique cars.

‘We need to get something for you, too,’ Nora insisted. ‘You’ll be at my side all night, so you’re going to appear in the pictures, as well.’

‘I can’t afford any of this,’ I told her at the first store, looking around in awe.

‘Don’t worry. This trip is on me.’

‘Nora –’

‘You remember when I was poor and you helped me out?’

‘I bought you coffees.’

She made a little tutting sound with her tongue against her teeth. ‘You made sure I had enough to eat. You ordered large and split half. I remember it all. I kept careful notes.’

‘You’re crazy,’ I told her, as I always did when she brought up stuff like this. In school, Nora was on a work scholarship. She put in time at the coffee house and in the library to balance her tuition. She bought all her clothes vintage and splurged on music and hair dye. And she’s right. I made sure she ate well. I did it without a thought, and without expecting repayment. Nora would have done the same for me if our situations had been reversed.