That night I have dinner with Mariah. I haven’t told anyone what’s been going on for to do so, would be to further infringe on the CA. It would be great to have a friend with whom to commiserate but it is what it is, as Stephen would say.
“So,” she says between bites of a plate of enchilada mole, “how long will you be staying in Portland?”
I shrug, eyes scanning the crowded restaurant. I find myself doing that every time I leave my hotel room. Who or what I’m looking for, I don’t know. “Not sure, honestly. If the whole crazy book thing never happened, right now I’d be applying to doctoral programs and looking for an interesting internship. Having all money worries removed is liberating to be sure, but it also makes goals less clear, if you know what I mean.”
“Mmm, wish I did, Ella, but, no. I’m still a working stiff. I do have your old bedroom still vacant and I could use the extra rent if you’re interested in hanging around for a while?”
“Hmm, maybe. Let me mull it over tonight and I’ll let you know tomorrow. Good enough?”
“Absolutely. Mmm, you have to taste this, here,” and holds a forkful out to me.
We spend the rest of dinner stuffing our faces while Mariah gives me all the details on her recent trip to San Francisco.
A week later I move into her spare bedroom, to Mariah’s relief. I’ve decided to stay in Portland for a month while I decide what to do with my life. After, I’m going to visit my parents, and then maybe make a quick trip to New York to meet with my agent and visit some museums. I’ve decided to put my real estate search on hold until I make decisions on my immediate future—it would be silly to do otherwise.
I never called Ian and he hasn’t made any effort to contact me. I know I should be happy; I know I should feel nothing but relief… but I don’t. I mean, I’m definitely relieved about the lawsuit going away and there was never any real chance that I’d actually become his submissive. But if I’m brutally honest with myself, I’m also massively disappointed. I’m sort of crushed that I won’t see him again. I’ve been pining for the man for the entire past year and I have to remind myself of the reason why I wrote the book in the first place: I missed him.
How can I possibly have fallen in love with a man after knowing him less than a month? But then I think, who wouldn’t fall in love with him? Even with his deviant predilections, he’s an amazing man. He’s wickedly intelligent, incredibly competent in so many ways… he’s funny, gorgeous, generous with his money if not himself, and he treated me very well—apart from the little matter of the whipping.
But I agreed to it. It wasn’t as if he forced me into it. I was curious about the whole thing and I never expected he would strike me that hard. Why did he? That’s what I don’t get.
I’ve been reading up on BDSM and I understand it a little better than I did back then… but understanding intellectually is not the same as living it. I’ve always been able to see how erotic it can be… but I’m not certain I’m wired for it. And I take exception to the fact that Ian called me a natural submissive. I’m not. I’m strong and capable and independent—I don’t plan on submitting anything to anyone. So there, Ian Blackmon. Have a nice life.
The intercom rings one Friday afternoon. Mariah’s not home from work yet and she didn’t mention she was expecting anyone. I pick up the intercom. “Yes?”
“Yes, Ms. Strong. I have a Naomi Lewis here to see Mariah?”
Naomi Lewis? Yes, Mariah mentioned she might be hanging with us this weekend; she just didn’t say to expect her. “Oh. Okay, send her up.”
“You must be Ella,” the redheaded woman shouts, as I open the door and she flings herself into my arms. “I’ve heard so much about you!”
“Good things, I hope?”
“Oh, yes, Very good things. You are Ella, aren’t you?”
Laughing, I admit it’s me. “Naomi, it’s nice to meet you. Mariah speaks highly of you, too.”
“Now you’re just lying,” she chuckles. “Mariah thinks I’m completely insane. And I am, FYI. But it’s a fun insane, not a dangerous, creepy insane.”
I like her instantly. Still giggling, I go into the kitchen to get us some wine. “White or red?”
“Ooh, definitely red. What do you have?”
“Is Cabernet okay?”
“Perfect. Thank you.”
I pour out two glasses and we bring them into the living room. Digging out my iPod from my oversized bag, I park it in the dock and put on some Chili Peppers.