“I think I need to sit down.” It had been a long day.
Freddy got off his stool and steered me into it.
“And maybe a drink.”
Freddy handed me his beer. I downed it in seconds.
Freddy put his arms around me. The hug made me feel better than the beer had.
“That good?”
I nodded. “Thanks. You always seem to know what to do.”
“That’s what sisters are for,” Freddy said.
“Let’s go somewhere a little less creepy.”
This being New York City, the nearest coffee house was eighteen steps away. We sat in comfortable chairs and had some kind of frozen blended coffee chocolate thing with whipped cream and caramel.
We both got the largest possible size.
“So, what do you think?” I asked him.
“I think my headset almost melted in my ear,” he said. “That was a hot story.”
“Freddy!”
“Wel it was,” Freddy said. “The hunky older guy who holds you down and tickles you until you can’t catch your breath? Hel o! You’ve seen that Michael Harrington-you got to admit you could do worse than being straddled by that stal ion.”
I shook my head. “That’s gross. They were brothers.”
“OK,” Freddy admitted. “That part was kind of gross. But stil, Michael Harrington. He’s like Christian Bale in American Psycho. The yummiest sadist in town.”
“Do you think he could have kil ed his father?”
“My guess? He’s capable of anything.”
“That’s what I think, too.”
Just then, a dead-sexy guy in running shorts and tank top came in to order something. Freddy looked at him like a vulture spies a particularly delectable carcass.
“Could you excuse me a second?” Freddy went to the counter right behind the guy. Somehow, he started a conversation with him. I heard them both laughing and I turned away.
Two minutes later, Freddy returned with a scone and the guy’s card.
“What was that al about,” I asked.
“The runner? An old friend of my mother. I was just sending her regards. But back to business: Why do you think Michael is stil hypnotizing his brother?”
“It’s al about domination. That’s what he gets off on. His whole business, his whole life, is based on his fetish for control. Plus, when Paul’s in a trance, who knows what Michael does to him?”
We sat for a moment. Just when I thought Freddy was going to make another al usion to Charlie’s Angels, he surprised me.
“You want to talk about what happened with Tony?”
“Wow,” I said. “Do you know that Paul’s revelations were so shocking that I haven’t thought about Tony al night? Wel, not until you just brought him up, that is. Thanks.”
“Sorry,” Freddy said, looking concerned.
“Naw, it’s al right. I think I’m fine. If there were more time to think about it, maybe I’d be more upset.
Freddy gave me one more sympathetic look. “So, let’s not think about it,” he said, brightly. “Tel me how you left things with Paul when you took him to the cab.”
“Nowhere, real y. I think he felt better after he got al that off his chest, though. He told me he was thinking of coming out to his wife and getting on with his life. He said he thinks that’s what his father would have wanted. He sounded optimistic.”
“So, maybe he’l have a happy ending after al. As opposed to just having a ‘happy ending,’ which I think you probably spoiled for him when you brought the wal s of Jericho down on him at Sex-bar.”
“I suggested he avoid Michael for a while, though.
That guy real y does scare me.”
“Let me ask you a question,” Freddy said. “If Michael is doing crazy shit to his own brother when he’s got him hypnotized, what do you think he’s doing to his clients?”
I got a shiver. “I don’t know,” I answered truthful y.
“I bet it’s nothing good,” Freddy said.
“We have to stop him.”
“I agree. But how?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I’m going to figure it out.”
CHAPTER 21
On the way home, I had the cab drop me off at the corner deli so I could grab some milk and a box of cookies. I figured if I were going to take a few days off, I could afford to gain a percent or two of body fat. Besides, I’d been beaten up and dumped today. I deserved to pig out.
Fuck it, I thought, standing in front of the Ben and Jerry’s assortment in the freezer case. I might as wel go whole hog.
I was trying to decide on which flavor of ice cream I wanted when my iPhone rang. I put the Bluetooth receiver in my ear and picked up.
“Hel o,” came the high, thin voice of Melvin Cuttlebeck. “We had a phone session scheduled for tonight?”
Melvin, my favorite wannabe S amp;M top. He was right. I had completely forgotten to put it in my calendar. Oh wel, he finished so fast we’d probably be done before I choose my dessert.
“Yes sir,” I said. “I’m ready.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I mean, ‘good boy.’”
He proceeded to rattle off a fantasy about restraining and torturing me. Of course, his version of torture ran along the lines of “I’m spanking your bottom now (but don’t worry, not too hard),” and “how would you like it if I gave you a real y dirty look?”
Why couldn’t al sadists be like Melvin? He’s so sweet that he taught me how to escape his own bondage devices. He indulges his fantasies without real y hurting anyone. Unlike a certain Harrington boy, I thought.
I left my microphone on mute, every once in a while coming back on to give Melvin an encouraging
“oh yes, sir, spank this bad boy’s tush,” or “oh, thank you sir, that hurts so good.”
I final y settled on Cherry Garcia and turned around to see the chubby but cute goateed young clerk was listening to my every word. He stared at me open-mouthed, his hands in his front pockets. I shrugged. He gave me a leering nod.
Sure enough, Melvin noisily reached his fulfil ment within five minutes. “Thank you very much,” he said formal y. “Sometimes after we talk, I can go a whole day or two without feeling il whenever I see my boss.”
“Glad to help,” I said. We disconnected.
“Wow,” said the clerk as he rang up my junk food orgy. “That sounded like… something.”
His forehead was beaded with sweat and his jeans made his excitement clear.
“It’s a living,” I answered.
“You into that stuff in real life?” he asked, looking at the bruise on my cheek.
“No,” I said, hoping he’d give me my change real y quickly.
He leaned over the counter and whispered, “I am.”
He pul ed the col ar of his shirt down to show me that he was wearing a dog col ar. “Woof!”
I nodded appreciatively. “Good for you.” I almost added, “Fido,” but thought better of it.
“Maybe one day we could get together,” he said.
I put my hand out for the change. He handed it to me, his fingers lingering in my palm for a second too long.
“I’m kind of seeing someone right now,” I lied.
“Me, too,” he said. “But I think my mistress would like you, too.”
“Let me get back to you,” I said, thinking, doesn’t anyone have straight sex anymore?
I opened the door to my apartment, noticing that the lights and radio were on. “I’m home,” I shouted.
My mother emerged from her-my! — bedroom.
“Bubbie,” she said, “how was your day?” Then she looked at my cheek and gasped, “What happened?”
“Oh,” I said. “Would you believe a crazy man on the street just ran up to me and did that?” I took my wal et out of my pocket. “He didn’t even want my money. Just hit me and ran off.”
“Poor baby,” my mother said, taking my shopping bag from me. “Oh, look-ice cream!”
She never did suffer from an overabundance of maternal concern.
“Oh,” she said as we sat at the kitchen table eating ourselves into oblivion. “I think that bitch Dottie Kubacki had one of her friends cal here tonight.”
“What do you mean?” I mumbled though a mouthful of chocolate.