Authors: Michael Malflic
“Did he really make all of this?” She asked.
“Yes.” his father said proudly “he’s 16 now but started cooking when he was 12.”
He lowered “We were worried for a while… he always fussed about his hair and clothes, our décor, even the quality of the towels and linens when we traveled.”
The captain continued until his wife added
, “
Yes, he’s just like your mother.” The Missus added as the pair of boys came above
deck again this time trailed by two teenage girls. “He uses the cooking to get girlfriends” his father added boastfully. “I see” Donna said observing the two model type females who ate the veggies, and pushed the lamb around the plate occasionally picking at it.
The afternoon consisted of strong winds and more open seas. Despite her initial trepidation Donna had enjoyed the day immensely. Her final lesson was on tying off onto a cleat on the
dock,
learning to wrap and weave the ropes so as the ship moved it would tighten rather than loosen, a concept that her lifestyle had long ago made her aware of.
After a long day in the sun and a few hours of conversation once again at the dock the Husker and Donna bid “Stiff Shirts” adieu before winding back around the beltway and stopping at Tyson’s Corner for a little shopping. The pair changed outfits before leaving the ship in their jeans, the American made car stuck out at the mall from all of the other German numbers and high end rice burners at the valet stand. After an aimless hour where the only purchase was “sport boxers” for the Husker they departed retreating back to their suite where Donna joined the Husker who was soaking his tired weary muscles and tight chaffed hands in the bath.
Sunday morning be
gan lazy and late, there was no
where to be and no brunch to attend. Instead they worked out in the fitness center and engaged in leisurely packing of the abundance of unworn outfits before a walk to Starbucks and heading out for the day to the Air and Space museum next to Dulles where the Husker would while away the hours looking at planes and spaceships that to Donna might as well have been tractors and muscle cars from the boys back home, it was not her thing and she simply didn’t care.
They were standing in the lobby as the bags were loaded into the car by the bell man. The Husker spotted a colleague, as he began to approach stopped cold.
“What’s up?” Donna asked after he stopped thinking perhaps he realized he had forgotten something.
“I know him.”
“So say hi.” Wondering why a man who asks strangers and enemies for their support on a regular basis as he roamed the halls of power with world leaders would suddenly seem so awkward and shy.
“I don’t know her.”
“So?”
“That’s not his wife.”
“I’m not your wife would that stop him?” Donna replied annoyed at the thought that such a thing might matter.
“No. But then again I don’t have one. He does and I know her, she’s a friend of mine.”
Meanwhile Friday night that week found
Nadrea
without her usual accomplice, Instead she was at a lifestyle party with Mira and Tiffany in tow. It was the type of party where unaccompanied men were allowed only by invitation and while it was an event primarily designed for couples unaccompanied women were never turned away, even if they came in threes.
So as Tiffany and Mira danced into the night topless in nothing more than hot pants and a pair of high heels
Nadrea
meandered in a listless manner, occasionally flirting with a woman in a couple while in most cases the man watched in hopeful anticipation.
Nadrea
was in fact simply
tired,
it had been a long week with a particularly long night prior to this one. She went inside the voyeurs lounge that was filled with beds and platforms and chairs for lovers arranged in a fishbowl of a room that could be watched from nearly anywhere around the club. Reclining on chase lounge skirt partially lifted caressing her own thighs looking for someone to join in with or a particularly interesting set of an audience to put on a little show for, inspiration of any kind was not to be found and a few minutes later she wondered out to dance with Mira and Tiffany.
The pair was not worn, or weary, or preoccupied with thoughts of other people.
Nadrea
was as much enamored with the actions of the night before as she was the past. For all of her life of privilege there were secrets that she kept, unspoken little truths hidden away from everyone’s view point, most of the time even her own. She had always lived life on her terms and was always on the eclectic side, intellect and wealth had provided quite nicely for those luxuries.
Nadrea
reflected on the conversations she had had the night before. When asked about being in love she had in fact answered honestly.
Nadrea
with romantic intention had only once told someone she loved them, a fact mired in the secrets that hid what she had once felt. She was very much by a common man’s definition been promiscuous, a slut and a whore for years. She did
love the sensations, the freedom, the experience and in many ways the exchange of power both given and surrendered.
The word “love” cut her through, she would only use it in the shallowest of context. The mere thought of uttering it to another person made her physically ill. Looking deeply into her past she dredged up the place where it had all began.
Nadrea
was pretty as she always had been but as was often the case she was alone, distraught and often sad. Much of the time if someone looked past the seduction and wanton disregard of her gaze there was something truly sorrowful waiting to be found. When she wasn’t alone it was because the family’s live in was around or a parent happened to be home when going from here to there. Most of the time she kept the company of others in much the same predicament, those who also lacked quality time with their
families
, time that had been exchanged in the endless pursuit of even greater wealth. Standing against the cold hard stone wall of that evening
’
s club she was reminded of that school on a cold April day when she was sixteen. She thought about how he had approached her.
Nadrea
had known him for over ten years by then. He was in fact a family friend and the oldest consistent friend she had to that point in life. He was from a family of even greater wealth than hers. His reputation was of immac
ulate discourse unlike the some
what sorted interpretation of her by many others. As a favor
Nadrea
would accompany him to his academy’s spring formal. Like most pretty teenage girls she did have a boyfriend but he was given an explanation of the circumstance and no option was given to him.
Nadrea
was in fact going to the event with her old friend.
On the night of the dance she had arranged for her boyfriend to pick her up afterwards, an attempt to placate his untrusting emotions and give him at least a part of her evening, an evening that they wouldn’t have seen each other much before on anyway, The pair had been a couple for just under six months, at that age much longer was unrealistic, many celebrity marriages don’t last that long. So on that cold April night
Nadrea
was remembering waiting outside for her ride, leaning against the building much like
the wall of the school as the cold damp stone pressed into from that school in the city.
Back then she was heated from dancing and still sweating from the frivolity of youth. To that point it was a routine and uneventful evening. She stood outside waiting as the sweat dried on her young skin, passing the minutes discussing music and clothes with her escort for the evening. They laughed at the minute absurdities of their lives
, not
realizing the distance between their realities and so many others. As her boyfriend drove up her date did the gentlemanly thing and escorted her to the curb to meet the car, innocently kissing her good night on the cheek as he had done so many times before. A custom seen as normal by many cultures, there isn’t a natural born Italian or Frenchman in the world who would have mistaken the kiss for anything more meaningful than a ritual greeting or farewell.
A male American teenager on the other hand is not nearly as accepting. Thoughts of betrayal and deception were flooding his otherwise shallow mind. Thinking nothing of it she entered the car finding an angry and confused boy. A young man so betrayed not by
Nadrea
but by his own emotions and insecurities that he could only imagine the worst. Dreaming up in terrified semblances of reality that he and his emotions were nothing more than playthings for
Nadrea
, his emotion and virtue to her alone
were
of no consequence. Pulling away he shook as he began to cry.
Nadrea
not at all oblivious to him asked what was wrong, thinking that he had soldiered on to get her, wanting and need time with her despite some grave personal tragedy.
He began with a line of questions about her evening, each less insightful but more accusatory than the last.
Nadrea
reassured him of his place exclusively in her heart, but his distrust of her grew with each passing second. “Whore” he yelled at her,
Nadrea
reeling at his unexpected reaction to what she considered to be nothing more than a social function, it was just a simple obligation that was merely part of life. She tried to comfort him to no avail. Between his hateful angry chastising words and their combined tears and sobs she whimpered “but Ben, I love you”. Words said
where things rarely ever came from, her heart, well intentioned, long before thought about but never said and in the way that only youth or old age could provide for, honest
with out
other motivation or intention. The words were returned without the same devotion or sincerity, powerful words uttered by him as a means of control.
They continued on as a couple for a short time longer but as is so often the case the intensity and temptations of so many other things in life made young love fall away, accompanied with all the pain and scarring that a lost first love will bring. Every time he disagreed with her he would manipulate her feelings and self esteem by berating her telling her she was a whore, a slut, and worthless. Foolishly these words somehow mattered to the otherwise headstrong young lady. It became Ben’s routine method of control breaking her down a word at a
time,
the more he insulted her the more determined she was to make him see her as wonderful and special. Oddly enough he never did he had his own demons, he was not man enough to put them aside and be honest with her about his own feelings instead he criticized everything she did, how she looked and constantly question her devotion to him, keeping her heart in his hands and his own feelings just beyond arms length. The relationship was not lost at all to
Nadrea’s
infidelity or tiring of his cruel words but to Ben’s, instead she discovered him in the intimate comfort of another one evening. She found him with a close friend of hers, James. It was never again
discussed,
James and
Nadrea
remained friends to this day, perhaps because they both appreciate the same thing in a man.
The weekend was not without contact between Vincent and
Nadrea
, but no quality time of any sort was spent together they might as well have been on different continents. A few passing conversations, an occasional indecent text message begging for Vincent’s reply. Which of course he did, nothing at the time seemed quite as fun as talking dirty by painstakingly typing out one letter at a time on a phone’s keypad. There was a brief series of instant messages during all things a tax planning review. Vincent attempted to end the exchange with “That was really sick! Stay right where you are, the morality police are on their way”
“Why
?...
to take me away to bible camp?”
Vincent “Have fun at bible camp but call me when they let you out some of that stuff sounded fun”
Nadrea
“The Bible is full of kinky stuff”
Vincent “Wouldn’t know I don’t’ read anything without glossy pictures or numbers”
Nadrea
“So what do you read
” she
already had a good idea
Vincent
“ Porno
mags
and Kiplinger”