Sacred Revelations (27 page)

Until seeing her, I’d prayed I’d found her in time.

Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed the red, knotted rope around her neck. Me? I had to notice it first, knowing its purpose for being there, having worn one very similar myself. It is trademark Lord Fyre. My jaw grinds tight as I watch her add detergent to her washer, trying to hide the evidence of her muddy clothes. Was she going to shower and change and then break the news to me that she wanted to return to him—a little belated since she’d obviously already returned.

By the time she bounces into me, not seeing me, I am seeing red. I actually reach out and touch the length of rope circling her neck to assure myself that it is real. I close my eyes, wanting Lord Fyre’s handmade collar to go away, but it doesn’t. I look at her, seeing what he obviously did to her, mud covering more of her than not. Mud swirled around her breasts in a pattern that I know his hands created.

I cup her face, I can’t help but want to hold some part of her, and even splattered in mud she is beautiful, made even more exotic because of the dark brown splats. I wish I didn’t understand, I really do, but because I understand, I whisper to her, “It would have stopped hurting if you’d just given it time.”

I turn away from her because I have to. I turn away because it is one thing to use force when it’s consensual, but it’s another thing entirely when done in anger, and I want to shake her…hard—but I don’t, I won’t. I will not abuse Kitten. “Everything was wonderful,” I say, talking more to myself than to her, pacing her small kitchen, feeling caged in. “Why would you do this?”

She doesn’t answer. I didn’t really expect her to. She stands sobbing in the corner of the kitchen and I feel no sympathy. “Do you want to still be mine, Kitten?”

She nods her head and, for now, that is enough. “Get in the car!” I snarl at her, wishing I knew how this was going to play out, watching as her lips part, expecting her to refuse, and daring her with my eyes to try. It must have been the look, because she runs naked and barefoot, covered in dry, caked mud,

outside into the night air. Only then do I consider where we are, her neighbors quiet people who would be shocked if they saw her. It is late; hopefully no one is watching.

I have enough presence of mind to grab her keys to lock up as I leave. Coming from the porch, I see her naked and shaking outside of the car. Glancing around assures me no one has seen her as I race to the car, wanting to get her hidden from sight. “I said, get in the car.”

She starts crying as I open the car door and push her shoulder to try to force her inside. She pushes back. “I’m dirty, I’ll ruin the upholstery.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the upholstery!” I turn her chin toward me with a cruel jerk. “I can pay someone to clean my car. If I had to, I’d just buy a new one. You, on the other hand, are one of a kind—you care more about this car than my heart. Unbelievable.”

This time, when I push her, she goes in. Dry mud flakes onto the leather seat. I scoot into the driver’s seat and pull away from the curb. She sits closed tight, hands folded in her lap. In the green glow of streetlamps, I start to make out just how much of her is covered in caked, dried mud, breasts, belly, between her thighs.

“Do I even want to know?” I ask.

She shakes her head.

I notice that she isn’t buckled and command, “Buckle up.”

“Pain and foolishness lead to great bliss and complete knowledge, for Eternal Wisdom created nothing under the sun in vain.”

-Kahlil Gibran

Kitten

Did I think we were going to his penthouse? When we arrive at Lewd Larry’s, I am surprised, but not as shocked as I should be, not as scared as I’d have been even three months ago. I am naked, except for my two collars and the drying mud that covers most of my body, but especially my breasts, my ass, and between my legs.

Climbing out, he comes to my side and opens the door. “Get out,” he barks, more sternly and more loudly than he needs to, but then Garrett is a showman. Here he is Lewd Larry, proprietor, everything he does is well thought out, executed with the knowledge of how it is going to affect the bottom line.

His eyes are challenging. Does he think I’ll refuse? Does he think I will beg to avoid this humiliation?

Three months ago, I would have begged.

Three months ago, I wouldn’t have found myself in this mess.

I climb from his car, gracefully, well-practiced, hands first, long stretch onto the pavement, stepping, hand, hand, knee, knee, making sure that each long-armed stretch is provocative, each knee forward wiggling my ass just so. I realize Garrett has never seen me in all-out Kitten-mode. This I learned on the

streets when I was doing the Kitten Sightings for Inappropriate Voices , my way of passively stalking Garrett in an effort to win him back after he dumped me because I was an undercover reporter. Now is as good a time as any for him to see what he missed.

The line for entrance to the club is long tonight; it seems the line is always long now. Lewd Larry’s business is booming. I wonder if there are any Kitten fans in the crowd tonight? Yes, my Kitten Sightings created a huge fan base, many who subscribe to my online newsletter. I still receive pictures, both spectacular and mundane, in my emails from fans who have caught me about town. I crawl toward the long line of waiting patrons, knee step, hip wiggle, long-arm stretch. Someone in the line whistles, camera phones are at the ready, some taking pictures, others recording, so yes, fans are here.

Yippee for me.

Tomorrow, I will be on the front page of The Darkness ; well, maybe not, I am the CEO, maybe that will save me. I sigh, because there is no salvation, not for me, not in heaven, not with Garrett, and not with Charlie. With this newest scandal, he will step up to the plate and milk the publicity for all it is worth.

Lewd Larry’s is our number one patron, spending more on advertising than average homeowners spend on their home.

Charlie loves me, but Lewd Larry’s will come out on top with his advertising skills, even if there is scandal. Lewd Larry’s wins. I don’t think Garrett is feeling very much like a winner tonight. Yes, I fucked up, in so many ways, but talk to me about it, don’t bring me here. Don’t put me in the spotlight.

“Kitten, get inside the club!” Garrett’s bellow is only fuel for the fodder at this point. He has no idea what he instigated. Think to reduce me and humiliate me because I transgressed? Kitten thrives on humiliation.

I crawl all the way to the long line of waiting patrons, veering to follow its path to the main entrance, long-arm stretch, knee to hand, sway, sway. Whistles and lewd comments follow my every step.

Garrett’s famous men-in-black, SECURITY blazoned across the backs of their tight-fitting Tshirts, arrive to control the crowd, trying to make a wall barrier between them and me. I am too busy crawling to pay much heed to security or the crowd. My show is for Garrett only as I crawl provocatively, taking lots of mental concentration, long-arm stretch, knee to hand, sway, sway.

Camera flashes blind me, but not so much that I don’t see Garrett striding purposely toward me, a gleam in his eye that spells trouble for me. I sit back on my hips, knees pulled in, arms stretched out, braced for impact, hissing as he gets closer. There is no impact, I am scooped from behind by security guy Bob. I should have seen him coming, quite literally. Bob is so wide he goes through doorways sideways, and not an ounce of fat on him. Bob lifts me like I am a naughty two-year-old. I don’t have a chance against him.

Glaring, I am not happy.

Garrett winks, triumphant, a smirk on his face that I’ve never seen before. What does that mean?

The three of us wade through the lower-level crowd, though really it is the two of them wading, I am solely along for the ride; at least until we arrive at The Oasis. There, without ceremony, I am dumped onto my floor cushion at Garrett’s regular table. Jackie, Garrett’s oldest and dearest friend, is already there, seated and waiting.

“Well, well, just look at the cat you dragged in, mister.”

“Don’t start, Jackie,” he warns.

Garrett sits, lifting his hand to the waiter, holding up two fingers. At first, I didn’t understand how the waiter always knew what to bring to the table on cue, but after paying attention, I realized it was some type of coded sign language. Two fingers tight together, tumbler of Scotch, no ice. Two fingers apart, cheesecake. Tonight, his fingers call for Scotch and, on cue, it arrives tableside.

“How much fun would my life be, Garrett, if I didn’t get to tell you at least once a year that I told you so!

Cats are trouble, don’t like ’em, don’t need them.” She glares at me, saying, “They’re fickle, never loyal, I swear to you, what you need is a warm, companionable canine, perfect like my sweet Bernard.”

The sweet Bernard in question lifts his head from his pillow.

I hate Bernard, not really, but at the moment he isn’t at the top of my like-list, since he’s been promoted to perfect status. He winks at me, making me feel worse. Jackie doesn’t like me anymore and that makes me sadder than anything else going on at the moment.

“Take off her collar, Garrett. Set her free,” Jackie hisses. “This course is just going to lead to heartbreak.”

“It’s going to lead to heartbreak?” Garrett repeats. “Meaning that you don’t think I’m heartbroken yet.”

“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous. You’ve had some fun with the girl, but it was never like you were going to be together forever. That’s so junior high. By tomorrow night, this will be behind you and you can start living again.”

Hello! Sitting here listening.

“Now, I haven’t been living?”

“I’m your friend, Garrett, and I’m going to tell it to you like I see it. Since she went with Thomas, no, you haven’t been living at all. This girl is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.”

I close my eyes, not wanting to cry even as warm liquid slides over my cheeks.

It is early morning. We’ve been home from the club for several hours, but we haven’t spoken about it, not at all, not even all of the horrible stuff Jackie said. He let me shower at least, so I’m no longer covered with mud. He sleeps in the bedroom, but I came to the kitchen seeking coffee and, finding a splash of sunlight, I laid down in the pool of light, hogging the warmth. I am miserable but can’t help laughing at the kittens. They seem to be growing before my eyes. Rolling around on the floor, they attack me as I lay in their midst. The sunlight flooding the floor warms their fur, making them smell fresh and innocent. I am not fresh or innocent.

Mama Cat strolls in from the living room and I am abandoned. Seven hedonists leap and tackle, seeking their sole pursuit of happiness—milk. I wonder when Mama Cat will get fed up with it and wean them.

For now, she sprawls, seeking the relief they give her in draining her.

I close my eyes, chasing away the unwelcome image of a baby attached to its mother’s breast. The image becomes clearer, revealing a baby with dark brown hair and blue eyes. I rub my eyes and chase

away the dream, because that is all it is anyway, an impossible dream. Life just doesn’t happen that way for someone like me.

One of the kittens slides between my legs. Round with milk, sated, it curls into a ball, making a bed for himself at my crotch. I scratch the nape of his neck and his purr reverberates up my arm.

Buzz, Buzz.

I don’t answer the ringing doorbell. It rings again, and again, but I don’t move. Enrique is here, somewhere, unless it’s Wednesday, he’s off on Wednesdays. The doorbell rings again. Is it Wednesday?

I close my eyes, clearing my mind.

Thud, thud, crash.

“What the hell?” I jump up, race into the living room, and find Garrett and Thomas in a tussle on the floor. I sigh, numb. This is my moment to do the girlie thing. I should jump in screaming and try to separate them. I don’t. Shaking my head, I step around the shattered vase and sit on the sofa, pulling my legs up to tuck them under my chin, watching the show. I hope they beat the crap out of each other.

Enrique comes into the room, rumpled from sleep, hair messy. He puts a hand on my shoulder, watching the show. “Should we do something?”

“Nah. Let them kill each other.”

Thud, thud.

I tilt my head back, rolling my head on the back of the sofa, to look at Enrique.

I’ve never seen him rumpled or messy. It’s a good look on him. Sexy. A cough draws my attention to a very young-looking blond boy, peeking his head out of Enrique’s bedroom. Ah, the explanation as to why the doorbell wasn’t answered.

“Is he legal?”

“Si, of course. He’s fromCincinnati .”

Cincinnati, of course he is. Oh, hell. “I meant old enough to be in your bed?”

“Ooh. Si, si. Veintidós .”

Twenty-two. “He looks sixteen,” I reply sarcastically.

Enrique turns to look at him. I turn to take a second look at him. The young blond smiles, pushes his bangs out of his eyes and manages to strike a pose in the doorway. His stomach muscles stand out against tight skin, not because he is buff, but waif thin. He manages sexy very well—too well.San Francisco will eat him up and spit him out, used and broken. Sixteen or twenty-two, he needs someone to take care of him. I turn my head, quite certain he is too young for me to be looking at him the way I just looked at him.

“Wow. You better get some ID.”

Thud, crash. A lamp joins the vase as casualties.

“Ju gonna be okay out here?”

“Yeah, Enrique, go on, have fun. ID first, please, though.” I sigh. “They seem to be running out of steam anyway.”

A final head butt into the stomach skids both men across the floor, Garrett doubles into himself, maybe a little lower than the stomach. Thomas sits up, waiting and watching. “Are you okay?” I realize he’s not asking Garrett, he’s asking me.

I nod, holding his gaze. “I’m okay, you okay?”

He nods, smiling, not his hundred-watt smile, but a wow I’m glad this fight is over smile.

Garrett moans and sits up, still holding himself. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks for asking.”

Thomas and I look at each other and shrug, asking Garrett at the same time without meaning to, “Are you okay, baby?”