Whew! So very glad that's over.
I lounged in the big tub, fragrant bubbles heaped up to my neck, the sweet heat slowly leaching the stress out of my muscles. This was my little treat to myself. A trio of candles on the counter providing the only light, soft jazz dancing in the background, and a hot pampering bath with the evocative scent of sandalwood cocooning me. First time home in three weeks. I'd burst in the door, dumped my purse and carry-on bag on the bed, my coat landing in a crumpled heap on the floor, and now there was a trail of clothes that led to the bathroom and my little slice of heaven. I sighed, slid down further, leaned my head back onto the cushion and let my cares drift away.
The book signing tour had been brutal. Funny how they never tell you about that side of it when they're trying to get you to agree to go. But my editor had insisted, saying it would promote sales. Right. Three weeks of same old, same old, just a different day in a different city. It was just like living some Twilight Zone remake of the movie 'Groundhog Day'. Over and over and over, ad nauseum. Wake up, get appropriately dressed and made-up, get hair styled, get a quick bite then off to the local bookstore. Read a few chapters for the horde, answer inane questions, sit at the perennially wobbly folding table on the hard folding chair (note to self – make an appointment with the chiropractor!), get writer's cramp, then paste on the smile and thank the store manager while he's gushing all over you thanking you for the big bump in register receipts. Get lunch, get a nap, go to another store and do it again. Then dinner, and yet another hotel bed (funny how the rooms all seemed the same!). After the first couple of days, I couldn't have said what town we were in, nor even what day it was.
My publicist tells me it worked wonders, so I suppose that's something. Seeing my book's title on the top ten New York Times' bestseller list didn't hurt anything either. I sighed, contented, thought back to my college professor, Dr. Stanson. He was known to be a hard ass when it came to creative writing, but somehow he liked my stuff, even encouraged me to pursue a career in writing. He had planted the seed, and now, two years after receiving my degree, I was a published author. "Write what you know," he'd always told the class. Boy, did I ever!
An hour later, I was wrapped in my fave old sweats, heading into the kitchen for some wine. Walking past the breakfast bar, I noticed the light blinking on my answering machine. Hm, odd. Anyone who knows me knows to call my cellphone. My eyebrows shot up when I saw 32 messages! What? Intrigued, I hit the playback button.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?! Call me immediately!" –click–
"I ordered you to call me!" –click–
"Pick up the phone, dammit!" –click–
The messages followed mostly the same vein, except for the latest one.
"If I don't hear from you soon, you'll be hearing from my legal team."
I pressed 'Erase All', smiling to myself. Yes, some things never changed. Apparently some people never changed either. Perhaps the phone somehow sensed my proximity, began ringing. I looked at the caller ID, unsurprised to see the name that went with the messages. Time for some fun.
"Hello?"
"What in the fucking HELL do you think you're doing?!"
I smiled, struggling to keep the laughter out of my voice.
"Who is this?"
"You KNOW who this is!" he roared.
Of course I did. I'd been expecting to hear from him since signing the book deal.
"Tut, tut. I think you might be exceeding the FCC's decibel limit. And I do believe they frown on profanity over the phone."
Oh, I was certain he was livid by now. Nothing like poking a snarly bear with a stick. There was dead silence on the phone, and I could just picture him, eyes squeezed shut, shaking with rage, scrambling to regain his precious control. His next words were almost a growl through clenched teeth.
"You signed A FUCKING NDA!"
Was that spitting I heard? Oooh! Poked with a stick while twisting his tail. Ah, payback was indeed a bitch, and she was in my corner.
"Indeed I did. Your point?"
"YOU CAN'T WRITE ABOUT WHAT WE DID!"
"Oh, but I can. I reread my copy of the NDA several times, even had my legal representative go over it for his expert opinion." I heard a gasp over the line. Good, he was listening. "His legal opinion was that the NDA covered the contract period between us, not the NDA itself. Nor did it, in any way, have any bearing on my Writing. A. Work. Of. FICTION."
More silence from him, for several long heartbeats. I'm sure I'd just given Mr. Control Freak something to gnaw on.
"I ought to sue your ass!" he spit venomously.
"Silly old man. We both know you won't lift a finger."
He was hardly old. A perfect male Adonis when I'd been under contract for three months.
Gosh, was it three years ago already?
"You know I have the legal resources to do it."
"Oh please. It's an empty threat and we both know it. Of course, I would be very happy if you tried bringing suit."
"What? Why?"
Ah, that threw him. I knew it would. He always had to be in control and now I'd thrown an unaccounted-for variable at him.
"Having you bring suit would intimate that my book was something more than pure fiction. Once the tabloids got hold of that, I suspect the book sales would soar. Of course, it would also bring some intense scrutiny your way as well. Are you really prepared to shoot yourself in the foot?"
Ah, that profound silence on the line. Had to give him credit, he was always very clever, able to size up spreadsheets at a glance, able to read people from the most subtle signs. Now he was using that sharp mind to analyze the various outcomes from his threatened actions. Like a couple of grandmasters facing off over the chess board, I'd just moved and declared 'Check'.
"You'd suffer as well. Your life would also go under the microscope. Plus, you'd be out several million when I won the suit."
"Ah, but the difference between us is that it wouldn't matter if my life went under the microscope. Not a bit. In fact, it would just add to my popularity and provide fodder for my next book. As for winning the suit, I suggest not counting your chickens just yet. You would have to PROVE that my writing has revealed anything from our contract period. I'd love to see that. So would the tabloids."
"Why are you doing this to me?"
Now THAT tone I recognized – the hurt fairly dripped from his words.
"You're doing this to yourself. I've moved on, got my degree. After college, I decided to write for a living, and now my very first book has turned into a bestseller. My editor is already making noises about a sequel."
"You realize no Dom is ever going to touch you again, given what you've revealed."
"Irrelevant. If you recall, it was me who refused to renew our contract, despite all your little 'incentives'. I've walked away from that life and fashioned a better one for myself."
Had to give him credit; he'd tried poking back at me, getting in his last licks. Tried, and failed. So predictable.
I remembered clearly the last few times I'd seen him during the contract period. Something in his attitude had changed. Yes, he still appeared intimidating, but there was something in his touch, it was .. gentler. He ordered me to look at him, and there was a new something in those hooded gray eyes when he looked back at me. I'm sure any other sub would have been over the moon to have a Dom such as him begin falling in love with them. The signs were quite apparent. I was certain of his feelings when he asked to extend the contract, his incentives including a fully paid luxury condo with staff, a new car of my choosing, complete new wardrobe and an 'allowance' of $1 million. He even surprised me, presented his renewal offer over dinner at his club, complete with the gift of a diamond necklace and earrings. He'd looked so completely lost when I'd turned him down flat, then walked away.
He was the third Dom I'd had. From the very beginning, when I'd gotten into the lifestyle, I had a purpose. I was going to write a book about being a submissive, reveal to the world what the lifestyle involved, how it felt, try to explain the complex dynamics and answer the 'why'. Thankfully I always did have a high threshold for pain, and I was enough of an actress to let my Doms believe that they were pushing me to the limits of my tolerance. Call it research, if you like. After Dom #3, I knew I had what I needed: a storyline that would grab the public's fancy and give it a right good shake.
His next comment brought me back from the reminiscence.
"Don't you miss it?" he asked in that warm velvet voice.
"No, I don't. Truthfully, I only got into the life to do the research for the book. I'm not so broken that I need someone to punish me to assuage my own demons."
"That was all just an ACT?"
"Of course. I had decided three doms was my limit when I first got into it. Now I'm in a happy and committed lesbian relationship, and my life couldn't be any better. Oh, and before you ask, yes, she knows all about what I did. So I trust you will not contact me again."
Checkmate.