“I understand.”
They said nothing for a moment, a long moment that allowed for the temperature in the room to rise, Nora’s heart to beat faster, and the hunger for each other to build. Nora leaned forward to kiss Lance, not giving a damn anymore what Kingsley had decreed. Lance didn’t seem to care anymore, either. Cupping the back of Nora’s head, he brought his mouth to hers. But before their lips could touch a sound like a klaxon broke the moment in half.
“Fuck...” Nora growled.
“What the hell is that?”
“My hotline. Kingsley set the ringtone to something I couldn’t ignore. Now I can’t figure out how to change it.”
She got up and grabbed her hotline phone off the charger in the kitchen. “This better be good,” she said to Kingsley, now in no mood for polite hellos.
“It’s good. I promise, it’s very good.”
Nora wrote down the information Kingsley gave her and hung up. She returned to the living room and found Lance waiting by the door, his leather jacket back on, keys in his hand.
“Kink emergency?” he asked.
“How did you guess? I’ll be ready in ten.”
Nora changed into her fetish-wear and this time let Lance do the driving. They valet-parked at an exclusive hotel near Gramercy Park.
“So what now?” Lance asked as they left the car. “We just walk in the front door?”
“We just walk in the front door. We look nice and vanilla.” Nora had put on a black trench that covered up every inch of anything interesting on her. From the outside she looked like any other rich Manhattanite who didn’t want to get rained on. Under the coat she looked like a cross between Bettie Page and Marlene Dietrich with a little carnival barker thrown in for shits and giggles.
They got on the elevator and headed to the seventeenth floor.
“You’ll need to wait outside the room. I’ll be done in an hour.”
“What’s on the menu today?” Lance asked as the elevator doors closed.
“Some famous actor I’ve never heard of,” she said, checking her notes. “Wants a good beating. Kingsley says he’s a total asshole who’s notoriously mean to his assistants. Beating the shit out of him should be fun. I might even make him confess his sins.”
“Good times. Be safe,” he said when they got to the door of the hotel suite.
Nora reached under a newspaper left lying outside the door and picked up a keycard.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got this one under control.”
She gave him a wink before sliding the card through the lock and slipping into the room.
She found her client sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless and smiling. He had a good body and a vaguely familiar face.
“Kingsley tells me you’re famous,” she said, dropping her toy bag on the floor and tossing her coat aside.
“I am. Very famous.” He leaned back resting on his hands. “Want to see my Oscar?”
“Never met a man who named his cock Oscar before.”
“I meant my Academy Award.”
“Oh, then no.”
Her client blanched and Nora smiled. God, she did love putting the rich and famous in their place. And their place was, of course, at her feet.
“It’s a big deal to get an Oscar,” he protested.
“Yeah, well, I have no idea who the fuck you are and I don’t give a damn about your Grammy award.”
“Oscar.”
“And quite frankly, I don’t care who you are. But I hear you’re an asshole who treats his assistants like shit, and I think you’re probably going to have to be punished for that. Say ‘Yes, Mistress’ if you agree.”
He swallowed hard.
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Good boy. Now get naked and bend over the table. Let’s find out how an Oscar-winner screams.”
She quickly found out how an Oscar-winner screams. Loudly and without shame. Luckily the walls were soundproof; otherwise she might have hotel security banging on the door. She’d learned that lesson the hard way.
After an hour, her Oscar-winner had turned into a puddle of blissed-out goo at her feet. He kissed her boots, declared his undying devotion and begged her to let him see her again next weekend.
“I might consider it,” she said. “But only if I check the newspaper and see that you’ve issued a public apology to your assistants.”
“Done,” he pledged. “I’ll do it today.”
“Good. Now get the fuck off my feet.”
Her client pulled a bathrobe on and walked her to the door.
“My new assistant is outside. He’ll walk you out.”
“How gallant...of your assistant.”
She stepped back into the hallway and found Lance and another man waiting in the hallway. The other man had about five inches on Lance and at least fifty pounds. Apparently Oscar’s “assistant” was actually his bodyguard.
“You don’t have to walk me out,” Nora told the bodyguard. “I have my own babysitter.”
“That’s fine,” he said. “I do have to frisk you first.”
“Frisk me? I don’t think so,” Nora said. “You can check my bag to make sure I didn’t steal any ashtrays, but the body’s off-limits.”