Fem Dom (15 page)

“Are you screwing with us down in creative, Clem?” Clem stopped typing and looked up at the furious Creative Director.

“Clue me in. What’s going on?”

“Fitz went down to Louisville and sold Rebakor an ad campaign. Who the fuck approved the creative?”

“Whoa, slow down, Chuck. What are you talking about?”

“My guys have been busting their asses working all week and over the weekend and now we find out it’s all been for nothing.”

“What do you mean Fitz went to Louisville? When?”

“Fitz and Charlie Knutson presented a campaign to Molinaire in Louisville on Tuesday.”

“Bullshit! Who told you that? That’s total bullshit.” Clem’s mind started to race. Where was he that Tuesday?
Fuck! Golfing with Frank Bergenson.
The penny dropped. Now Clem was livid.

“Talk to Leo. He heard it from Gerard and Pat. Makes me look pretty fucking stupid!” yelled Chuck.

“Chuck, believe me, if that’s true, you’re not the only person who’s looking stupid right now.”

“Damn right. I got six very mad creative teams downstairs who want to know who’s running the show here!”

Clem pulled out his cell phone and started to make a call. “I’m calling Molinaire. Right now.”

A female voice answered the call. “
Rebakor Corporation.”

“James Molinaire.”

A second female voice answered.

“Marketing.”

“Can I speak with Mr. Molinaire, please. This is Clem Drew at Bergensons.”

A third female voice answered.

“James Molinaire’s office.”

“Hi, is James there? Clem Drew, Bergensons.”

“Hold for a moment, please.”

The voice at the other end put Clem on a long hold. He covered his cell phone and shot a look at Chuck Svensen.

“If this is true…..”

The voice at the other end came back on the line.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Drew. Mr. Molinaire is unavailable at this time. Can I take a message?”

“Yes. Please get him to return my call. Thank you.” Clem was even angrier than before he placed the call -- now he was getting blown off by the client.

“I’ll fix this, Chuck. I’m very sorry.”

Clem left an irate Chuck Svensen in his office and charged down the corridor towards the elevator. All the dots were suddenly connected. The timing of the tickets to Cabo started to make perfect sense now, too. Frank wanted Clem out the way for Fitz’s campaign to get up and running. He was being manipulated and undermined and he
wasn’t going to take this shit.

Up on the next floor, Clem headed down the corridors towards Frank Bergenson’s office. There were no signs of life. Even Rose had left for the day. Clem headed back to the elevator. If Frank couldn’t answer his questions then he’d have to go to Fitz.

Clem paced towards the account executives’ offices on the floor below, glancing into each of them as he hurried by. It was now gone five o’clock and so, it seemed, were most of the senior account execs. Even Charlie Knutson’s office was empty. Clem got to Fitz’s office. The door was locked and there was no sign of his secretary. The cleanup crew was already doing the rounds.

“Fuck!” Clem shouted loudly enough for the bemused Somalian cleaning crew to hear.

Without question, this had been the most bizarre day of Tara’s life. A day of revelations that would certainly stay with her forever. First, the meeting with Jack Kelsey, then the violent world of Mistress Krystal.

She walked out from under the iron stairwell behind Mistress Krystal’s apartment and took the back street back to Starbucks where she’d parked her vehicle. Tara made sure not to go anywhere near the front entrance of the apartment building in case ‘someone’ saw her. Her main concern was that Clem had been next on Mistress Krystal’s client roster to show up that evening. She wasn’t ready to come face to face with him just yet. She needed more lessons in discipline and domination first. Tara turned her cell phone back on and checked her voicemail as she walked quickly passed the hotchpotch of houses. She saw Clem had called. He’d left a voicemail.

“Hi, honey. Shitty day. I’m gonna work out at the club this evening and blow off some steam. Wondered if you wanted me to pick something up for us tonight for dinner on the way home? Call me.”

Tara wondered if he was really going to the club or not. Maybe she’d just so happen to drop by and find out for sure. She was in no hurry to call him back. Why should she? He rarely called her these days and this sounded like one of those alibi calls. She wasn’t certain she believed him.

Crossing the street at Grandview she walked to the Starbucks lot where she’d parked but there was no sign of her Lexus. Tara looked around the lot and saw several signs all with the same message:

‘
One hour parking. Violators will be towed.’

“Shit!”

This was the last thing she needed. What a way to finish off this crazy day, she cursed. It was the last thing she needed. Tara entered Starbucks feeling mentally exhausted. It had been a long day already and now it was about to get even longer. She walked up to the barista who’d served her earlier in the day.

“Was there a tow truck out here?”

“Yeah. Every day. They’re brutal, man. Not cool,” the spotty kid sympathized.

“Fuck. Get me a grande double shot cappuccino,” said Tara, as she dialed the towing company’s number.

Over at Bodyworks Fitness in Eden Prairie, the workout warriors were showing up after their work days. Clem grunted as he lifted a barbell off his chest and pushed a hundred and sixty pounds of heavy metal up in the air. Ten lifts later he crashed the bar down on the support posts and laid on the bench staring up at the ceiling. Beads of sweat ran off his forehead and into his hair making his neck glisten. He didn’t want to move. A muscular, tattooed guy half his age stood over him.

“Hey, man - - can I work in with you?” Clem got up slowly, his t-shirt so soaked in sweat it stuck to him.

“I’m done. It’s all yours.”

Clem toweled down the sweaty bench and ambled wearily over to a rack of dumbbells by the mirror. He started swinging hammer curls with a couple of twenty-five pounders. Clem’s body was in good physical shape and just the thought of Fitz’s smug smiling face helped him work out even harder than usual. He was still reeling from the stress of his day. He rarely lost his cool but it seemed he was living some crazy kind of emotional rollercoaster ride.
How could everything that was so good turn so one-eighty in the blink of an eye?

Clem winced as he swung the dumbbells into a wide fly curl, straining the sinews in his deltoids. He felt a burning twinge shoot through his left shoulder, almost causing him to drop the weight on the rubber mat.

“Owww,” Clem grunted, as he let both weights fall to his side. He struggled to put the dumbbells back on the rack. He rubbed his painful shoulder and ambled slowly out of the weight area back towards the men’s locker rooms.

Clem stripped off, wrapped a white towel around his waist and entered the empty sauna. He sat up on the top wooden bench in the soothing heat, staring down at his toes. He ran the day’s events back through his mind, reliving the conversation with the angry Chuck Svensen. As his mind began to drift, a familiar face entered the hot room.

“Hey, Clem? Long time no see!” Clem looked up to see Finlay Johnstone, a man younger than Clem and one of the fitness fanatics at the club. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on his lean, muscular body.

“Finlay, you fat bastard!” Clem had known Finlay long enough to trash talk him.

“How you been, dude?”

“Been better. Think I fucked my shoulder.”

“Rotator cuff probably. Ice it tonight. You still hacking it in the bullshit business?” Finlay sat down on a bench opposite Clem.

“Hanging in there, yeah. You still wasting your life exercising everyday?”

“Damn right. Got another Iron Man triathlon coming up in two weeks. Down to six per cent body fat. I’m lean and I’m mean!” Finlay beamed with youthful vigor. He had a sparkle in his eyes.

“You’re nuts.” Clem shook his head in amusement as beads of sweat dripped off the tip of his nose.

“
Me
nuts? Au contraire, mon amis. You’re the one who’s nutso sitting at a desk nine to five. I’m having fun, baby!”

“You found a real job yet?”

“No time for that!” Finlay laughed. “Too busy keeping my body toned and my mind alert.”

Clem found Finlay’s enthusiasm for working out impressive but he wasn’t going to say that to someone who seemed brimming with more than enough self-confidence and motivation for five people.

“What’s your big secret to surviving, Fin?” Clem asked, in all seriousness.

“I could ask you the same question, my friend.” Finlay laid back against the cedar wood slats and sucked in a deep lung busting breath of burning air. “Nutrition. Lots of whey protein. Cut the carbs. Fat falls off you. And glutens! They’re assholes. Rule them out of your diet.”

Clem was fascinated with Finlay’s seemingly carefree attitude and lust for life. “Seriously, how do you earn a living?”

“Odd jobs here and there. Y’know. Fix stuff. Enough to get by and feed my fitness addiction.”

“You’re a piece of work.” Clem smiled.

“Keep life simple, dude. Humans waste so much time acquiring crap they really don’t need. People are greedy motherfuckers.”

Finlay closed his eyes and beamed a broad smile, appearing to not have a single care in the world. Clem felt envious. While he had everything he’d ever wanted in a material sense with his big house, flashy car and great job, here was a man who had nothing but who seemed far happier than he could ever remember being in his entire life. In fact, Finlay Johnstone was just about the happiest sonofabitch Clem had ever met.

“Well, good luck in that triathlon, Fin,” said Clem, getting up to leave.

“Luck? You make your own luck in life, Clem.” Finlay smiled as sweat poured off his body and he closed his eyes again.

“Catch you later, fatso.”

Clem stepped out of the heat and into the coolness of the locker room. Finlay shouted to him through the window of the sauna.

“Get back to the grindstone, old man!”

By the time Tara arrived home, Clem had finished his take-out and was sitting with an ice pack on his injured shoulder. Tara walked in looking exhausted. It was as if their roles had been reversed for once.

“Hi, honey. There’s a chopped salad I picked up for you in the fridge!” Clem called out hearing Tara walk in from the garage. She was starving and that was exactly what she needed, along with a glass of something alcoholic but she said nothing. She felt strange, as if she was returning from something very bad. Tara was furious with Clem yet guilty at having acted so deviously that afternoon. Now she was wondering who on earth she was married to if Clem had been leading this secret life. She had no idea how long it had been going on but she was going to find that out. Even if it meant leading a secret life from now on in order to catch her cheating husband. But until she could find him guilty, she would reluctantly have to act as if he was innocent.

Tara opened the fridge and found the take-out.

“Did you get my message? I didn’t hear back from you so I went ahead and got it anyway,” called out Clem, sounding like he’d just been magically domesticated. Tara still didn’t answer. She grabbed a fork and walked into the living room where Clem was nursing his shoulder. It was gone eight but Clem didn’t ask where she’d been and Tara wasn’t about to tell him. And she was way too tired to make something up that sounded believable. If she’d told him about her SUV getting towed he’d be wondering why she’d been in that part of town so it was best she didn’t mention it. But it had been a long day and she was feeling wiped.

“What happened to your arm?” she asked, really not caring if Clem was in pain or not. After all, it seemed Clem enjoyed being smacked about so why should she be concerned? She sat down on the ottoman and dug into her salad.

“Pulled something at the gym lifting a dumbbell,” Clem grumbled. Tara couldn’t be sure if he was telling the truth or not. Maybe he was. Or maybe Mistress Krystal had cracked him one a little harder than usual. “I ran into Finlay Johnstone at the club tonight,” Clem continued. “He’s one cracked nut.”

If he was telling the truth about seeing Finlay then maybe Clem had gone to the gym to work out after all, Tara surmised. She knew Finlay and had always liked him. Or maybe Finlay was merely an unwitting alibi. Tara stuffed her mouth with a forkful of lettuce. She felt a coldness towards Clem she’d never felt before. Consciously or unconsciously she was detaching herself from him emotionally.

“He hasn’t got two cents to rub together yet he’s as happy as a damn clam. Doing another triathlon. The guy doesn’t seem to have a care in the world.”

Tara was more interested in eating than talking. For some odd reason Clem was Mr. Communicator on the one day that she didn’t really feel like saying anything to anyone. “Guess if you have nothing, you have nothing to lose,” Clem continued.

“I’m gonna pour myself a glass of wine, take a bath, then go to bed,” Tara announced as she walked back into the kitchen in search of a wine glass. Tara slept soundly that night.

CHAPTER 11

Lorraine’s early morning yoga class at Bodyworks Fitness had just finished and the class unwinding. Tara felt invigorated. She walked over to Lorraine who was unplugging her iPod from the sound system.

“Hi, girl.” Lorraine was pleased to see that Tara had made an appearance. “Glad you made it to class. Where have you been?”

“Nowhere,” Tara lied.

“Look, if you need it, and I know it’s none of my business, but I’ve got the name of a highly recommended marriage counselor.”

“Thanks but I’m dealing with it. Great class. What was that last song called?” Tara asked, deliberately changing the subject. She didn’t need any advice now that she had chosen her own plan of attack. Lorraine took the hint.

“Okay -- I’ll mind my own Goddamn business.”

“How’s your new man?”

“Curtis?”

“Yeah.”