Thor'sday Night - Paranormal Erotica (15 page)

She enters the shadowy cave of Seaside’s waiting
room feeling so sensually relaxed that coming to work seems like a
dream.

‘Good morning,’ Louise says automatically.

‘Mm, yes.’

‘Sounds like you had a nice weekend.’

‘Yeah. How was yours?’

‘It was all right, nothing special.’

Feeling smug, Carmen follows the current of
routine to her desk like a mermaid planning to perch on her rock
for a few hours and smooth out her tangled feelings. Jay’s kinky
bait has her firmly hooked, and now he is patiently reeling her in,
enjoying her emotional struggle against a new, and often painful,
element.

The first thing she does is check Mike’s
schedule for the day. He doesn’t have any meetings, which makes her
nervous. It means he will be in the office, and she isn’t sure
whether or not they will be having lunch together. The truth is
that he probably won’t even remember asking her. She had read so
much into his casual suggestion, yet now she is sure (in the
rational light of day, a Monday morning no less) that he hadn’t
meant anything by it at all.

Relaxed by this reasoning, she quickly takes
care of her tasks before sitting down to enjoy her coffee.

She has just logged on to the Internet,
intending to find out more about D.E.R.M., when Mike shows up
looking particularly handsome in a pitch-black suit.

She quickly switches on her star field
screen-saver. ‘Good morning, Mike.’ She gets up to pour him some
coffee.

‘Good morning, Carmen.’

His sleeve brushes her bare arm as they pass
each other. There seems to be a great deal of static stored up in
Seaside’s lush carpeting, because the subliminal purr of an
electric current passes between them again.

Pouring his coffee, she wonders if he felt it
too. Probably not, since he was wearing a jacket and shirt, and men
are not as sensitive. They don’t notice all the little things women
do, and make too much of.

‘The phones have been dead this morning,’ she
says as she walks into his office and sets the Styrofoam cup down
on his desk. For the first time since she began working for him,
she wonders why he doesn’t invest in a mug and minimize his
contribution to pollution and global warming.

‘Good,’ he answers shortly, ‘I have a lot to get
caught up on. I’m only here if it’s an emergency.’

‘Okay.’

‘Oh, Carmen?’

She pauses in the doorway. ‘Yes?’

‘Are we still on for lunch?’

‘Sure.’

‘Let’s make it a little later, around one
o’clock?’

‘Fine.’

‘Get Beatrice to cover for you.’

‘Yes, sir.’ She returns to her desk, sits down,
and stares at the stars streaming towards her at the reckless speed
of desire.

By the time Mike is ready to go, she is
starving. Every other appetite is temporarily dormant; all she
cares about is getting some food in her stomach. Her metabolism is
relentless. If she doesn’t nourish herself at regular intervals,
she is susceptible to painfully intense hunger.

Mike walks out of his office. ‘Ready?’ He has
abandoned both jacket and tie and consequently looks more
relaxed.

‘Yes.’ She snatches up her purse. ‘Where are we
going?’

‘I thought I’d leave that up to you.’

She is ready to eat almost anything, which makes
it nearly impossible for her to decide where she wants to go. She
is deep in thought as they walk side by side down the long corridor
to the elevators, and still thinking hard, she steps ahead of him
into the empty car.

‘Well,’ he says, ‘what would you like to
eat?’

‘Anything, I’m easy.’

‘You must have a favorite cuisine.’ He fishes
his car keys out of one of his deep pants’ pockets. ‘Italian?
Chinese?’ He stares at the doors as if he can make the elevator
move faster by sheer force of will.

‘Somewhere close by.’

‘The cafeteria?’

‘Not that close.’

‘Just pick a place, Carmen,’ he sounds impatient
with the sluggish technology he suffers everyday, or with her,
‘somewhere nice.’

‘
Somewhere nice?’
she repeats, buying time as they cross the lobby. She doesn’t want
him to spend too much money on her. ‘Well, how about Justo Pasta?
That’s a nice place. I’m mostly familiar with the
Gables.’

He holds the glass door
open for her. ‘If you’re in the mood for Italian, how about Café
Abracci?’

‘Fine.’

‘Is something wrong, Carmen?’ he asks without
looking at her. ‘You sound annoyed.’

‘Oh, no, I’m just starving.’

‘Well then I’d better feed you before you bite
my head off.’ He unlocks the passenger side of a red Porsche, and
smiles at her as she lowers herself into the tight, hot space. The
temperature outside is ideal, but the south Florida sun has been
attempting to germinate this glass and metal seed for hours.

He slips in beside her, starts the engine and
the air conditioner, and backs out of his parking space all in one
swift, practiced motion.

She follows his example and doesn’t bother with
the seat-belt. She is feeling guilty enough as it is without
pulling a black strap across her chest and calling attention to her
cleavage in the low-cut red shirt she deliberately chose this
morning when going through her clothes. The fine material clings to
her like dry blood, and her black skirt is even shorter when she
sits down. Fortunately, she wore black hose with her ankle-high
boots, so her thighs aren’t completely exposed along with the
weaknesses in her character. She knows the man beside her is
married, and that he signs her paycheck every week and that the
thoughts she is entertaining about him are wrong as well as
foolish, yet a predatory part of her doesn’t give a damn. All she
feels is excitement. She knows she is out of control, she knows it
as clearly as she knows Mike is driving way too fast through a
residential area, and that she has no desire to tell him to do the
right thing and slow down. She is glad he isn’t making idle
conversation because her mind seems to be going at light speed.
Human nature and her nature: she had never understood before how
they are one and the same. Wars, social inequality, pollution, the
seeds of all these terrible things are her own daily thoughts and
emotions. She is vain and selfish, a sensual hedonist obsessed with
good food and wine and men, a ‘sex kitten’ ready to give herself to
the dominant male, or males, around her. She is a bad person. Or
maybe hunger is making her weak and, therefore, negative, since
being positive requires energy.

‘God,’ she mutters.

He turns a corner without slowing down. ‘What is
it?’

‘Nothing, I was just thinking.’

‘You shouldn’t think on an empty stomach.’

‘That’s exactly what I just concluded.’

‘You’re a smart girl.’

‘I don’t know, I’ve been having a lot of doubts
about myself lately, Mike.’

‘What kind of doubts?’

‘Is it all right if I have a glass of wine with
lunch?’

‘You can have anything you like, Carmen.’

‘I need to talk to someone, Mike. It’s not
something I can discuss with my parents. We’re really close,
but…’

‘It sounds serious.’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, we’re almost there, and I’d be happy to
listen.’

Café Abracci’s round
tables are white as holy wafers adorned with votive candles and
pagan bouquets of flowers, miniature offspring of the massive
floral explosion dividing one side of the room from another. A Big
Bang of colors, shapes and textures explodes out of a single black
vase. The restaurant is full, yet the flow of conversation is
pleasantly muted, not the roaring river of voices common to lesser
establishments. The attractive young hostess leads them over to an
intimate little table in a corner, and a white-coated waiter
promptly appears.

Mike consults the wine list, and asks her
approval before ordering two glasses of the Chateau St John
Chardonnay. The attendant then leaves them alone with their
menus.

‘Everything looks so good,’ she remarks.

‘It’s refreshing being around another omnivore.
Linn’s a vegetarian. She’s very,’ he snaps the menu closed and sets
it aside while searching for a word to describe the gorgeous dish
of his wife, ‘temperamental.’ It doesn’t sound quite right, but he
leaves it at that.

Their Chardonnay arrives.

‘I’d like the Linguini Neri a la Frutto di
Mare,’ she makes a quick decision. ‘I can’t help it, that’s what I
always order when I come here.’

‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to try something
different, Carmen?’

She lays her menu on top of his. ‘Not
today.’

‘You said you wanted to talk to me about
something?’

She sips her wine, actively seeking the
mysterious truth serum contained in fermented grape juice. ‘It’s
about Jay Westgate.’

‘Then you are seeing him.’

‘Yes.’

‘What has he said to you?’ He almost drains his
glass. ‘I can’t believe he’s using you to try and get to me, not
that there’s anything you can tell him, since you don’t know
anything.’

‘Mike, Jay hasn’t asked me anything about
Seaside, not a thing. That’s not what I meant. He’s not using me to
spy on you, or anything ridiculous like that.’ She feels as though
she is picking up a bomb when she asks, ‘What have you got to hide,
anyway?’ She holds her breath, symbolically listening to it tick
with every second he doesn’t answer.

‘It’s not something I want to discuss with you,
Carmen.’ He is looking over her shoulder. ‘It’s a complicated
business, and accidents happen. There’s no avoiding acts of
God.’

‘Please don’t think I asked you that because Jay
told me to ask you. Please don’t think that, Mike.’

‘I believe you, Carmen, but I also don’t want
you thinking Seaside is some kind of monster. Ever since I came on
board, I’ve seen to it that we do everything in our power to
protect the environment while still turning a profit.’

She is reminded of the coiling dragon motif so
prevalent in Viking art as she lets herself buy into his seductive
twisting of the truth. Because she knows perfectly well that
Seaside drills for petroleum, which is the leading cause of
pollution, ozone decay and global warming. ‘I don’t think that at
all, Mike.’

Their waiter arrives right on cue to take their
order.

Having cleared the air, and ordered two more
glasses of wine, Carmen senses they have finally arrived at the
trail-head of the conversation she imagined having with him. Yet
she can’t help hesitating as she wonders where it will lead, and
how far she can go.

‘Okay,’ Mike grabs a roll from the basket
between them, ‘I’m ready to listen now.’ He figuratively shoves her
into the dense growth of her feelings, and waits for her to lead
the way as he blithely butters his bread.

‘I don’t have anyone else to talk to about
this…’ She beats around the bush a little, ignoring the bread. This
is the truth. Even Carol would be shocked, and essentially
unsympathetic.

‘So you said. You also said you had a problem in
the form of this,’ he obviously swallows the adjective he was about
to use, ‘guy from D.E.R.M.’

‘Well, it’s not exactly a problem.’

‘Carmen.’

The way he says her name forces her to look at
him.

‘I’m interested in you.’ The expression on his
mouth hardens slightly as he looks into her eyes, and fails to
touch bottom. ‘Ever since you told me about what happened to you in
the Grove,’ he sees something in her dark irises that makes him
look away, ‘I’ve been thinking about you. At first I was just
concerned, but ever since Saturday night,’ he pauses as his stare
plunges back into her wide-eyed attention, ‘it’s been more than
that. I realized you weren’t just a beautiful young woman, that you
were much more… I guess what I’m trying to say is, I feel like I’ve
taken you for granted, seeing you everyday at the office and
thinking you were just…’

‘I’ve been thinking the same thing about myself
lately, so don’t feel bad.’

‘I didn’t realize I was so eloquent. What was it
I just said, if you don’t mind telling me?’

‘I know what you meant.’

The waiter sets two more wineglasses on the
table.

‘We should have ordered the whole bottle,’ he
comments. ‘Don’t worry about having to go back to the office, by
the way. I’ll drive you back for your car, and you can go home. I’m
not going back myself.’

‘Oh, no Mike, I couldn’t—’

‘Am I, or am I not, your boss, Carmen?’

‘Yes, you are, Mike.’ His tone thrills her.

‘Then you’ll do as I say.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Her tone is such a contrast to his lighthearted
one that his attention sharpens. ‘Talk to me, Carmen.’

‘Oh, God, Mike, I can’t. I can’t possibly talk
about this with you. I mean,’ she looks him up and down as far as
the table permits, ‘you’re a man.’

‘Thank you for noticing, but I’d also like to be
your friend.’

She sips her wine for the courage to ask, ‘What
was it Vronsky said to Ana?’

‘Who?’

‘Never mind. “We can be strangers or we can be
lovers, but we can never be friends…” Didn’t you want to learn more
about the Vikings?’ She attempts to change the subject. ‘I want to
know why you feel Jay Westgate is a problem. That’s the wrong word.
He’s just different.’

‘In what way?’ he asks, very patiently.

‘He’s into bondage and domination,’ she explains
casually, gazing around the restaurant, ‘and it scares me how much
I… enjoy it. It’s like there was this door inside me I never knew
was there leading into a whole new world, and it’s so intense it
worries me a little. It’s almost like a drug… not that I’ve ever
done any… I mean, I can’t seem to think about anything else. And
it’s affecting all my perceptions, including how I feel about
myself. Because I shouldn’t like it, you know, it should make me
furious, actually. Women have been fighting to be treated like
equals for centuries, and here I am loving it when…’ She stops
dead, utterly amazed she told him as much as she did.