Fem Dom (27 page)

“That it? That’s all you came over here for?” Mistress Krystal asked, walking into the kitchen.

“Uh huh,” Tara replied.

“Now, hang on, hun. You kinda stomped off the other night,” Mistress Krystal reminded her. “And you gave me some little speech about being done with class. I don’t know if that was the booze talking or not because, I gotta be honest, I wasn’t really listening.”

“Oh, yeah. I think we’re done. Classes are finished for me. You were a great teacher, so thanks. I learnt what I needed to know.”

Tara knew this would be the last time she’d ever see Mistress Krystal and felt, strangely, a little sad now knowing that she never was the monster her mind had tricked her into believing.

“I’ve been thinking…” Mistress Krystal started. “…about just quitting and moving out west.”

“What about your regulars? They’ll be lost without you.”

“Tea?” Mistress K smiled.

“Oh, sure, why not? I’m in no rush.” Tara sat down as Mistress Krystal put the kettle on the stovetop and got out the Royal Doulton.

“They’ll all want to find other mistresses, for sure. Unless…” Mistress Krystal hesitated.

“No. Don’t bring that up again. I’m not interested. I told you that,” Tara reminded her.

“Why not? You could so easily take over this gig.”

“Oh, no, no, no. That’s never gonna happen!” Tara laughed at the thought.

“Several of my clients know who you are now and they love you. Especially Sissy Boy.”

“Nuh-uh. That’s not love.”

“And I’d be handing you a great source of income on a plate.”

Nothing could have been further from Tara’s mind. Mistress Krystal searched the kitchen cupboards for a black bin liner.

“I’ve had three lessons with you. I’m just not into this stuff.”

“You think I get off doing this shit, day in, day out? It’s a job. I think you could be terrific as long as you stay on script. And you know what? Even a lousy mistress is better than no mistress.”

“Well, that’s not exactly a ringing endorsement,” Tara laughed. “Was I a lousy mistress?”

“Well, I’ve never had a student before. You were the one and only, so that makes you the best student I ever taught.”

As they two them laughed, Tara couldn’t even contemplate working as a professional dominatrix. How could she ever tell Clem? He’d suggested she might want to quit her volunteering to get a job that paid but this could never have been what he had in mind.

“Think it over, hun. Anyway, there’s a client I see once every blue moon. I call him Coco because likes to dress up like a clown, the crazy bastard - makes animals out of balloons, too.”

“That sounds rather fun. Why does he need to do that with you?”

“Well -- while he’s making his little balloon animals, he likes me to stick a baseball bat up his ass.” Tara looked at Mistress Krystal.

“No. Forget it. It’s over. I’m totally done with all this. It…it just wasn’t what I thought it was going to be,” Tara said bluntly. “It’s not sexy.”

“It is to Coco,” said Mistress Krystal in all seriousness.

“No.” Tara stood up. “I definitely won’t be needing any more classes but I wanted to come over here and thank you in person for opening my eyes to a brave, new, scary world.”

Mistress Krystal was visibly disappointed. “Okay, hun. Well, I enjoyed showing you the ropes.” She tapped out a cigarette and lit it, then spluttered a cough.

“The judge is back so soon?”

“Yep. They kinda think of you as an old friend after a while,” Mistress Krystal smirked, still trying to twist Tara’s arm.

“By the way, my real name is not Angelina – it’s Tara.”

“Yeah, I know,” Mistress Krystal took another drag to keep the cigarette tip burning. Any guilt Tara had for being deceitful was immediately replaced by surprise.

“You know?
When
did you know?”

“The day you first called my number. You can find out anything on the internet these days.” Mistress Krystal gave her a wry smile. Tara felt silly now.

“I thought you were old school and not into technology.”

“Don’t believe everything people tell you, hun. I guess when you realized your husband wasn’t one of my clients you figured it was time to quit.” Tara was gobsmacked.

“What? How the --?”

“You’re a pretty easy read, Tara.”

“Am I? Really? Well, then you deserve an even bigger thank you for taking on someone you knew was being so economical with the truth.” Tara was amazed she’d been so easily rumbled.

“It’s all business,” said Mistress Krystal. “It was easy money.” She handed Tara a cup of tea. “So how
did
you find my card?”

“It was in my husband’s suit jacket.”

“Yeah? How’d
he
get it?”

“I’m still working on that one.”

“And he’s not one of my clients?”

“Unless he looks like this guy.” Tara took a small picture of her and Clem out of her bag and showed it to Mistress Krystal.

“Nah. He’s not my type.”

“Good to know!” Tara smiled.

“Well, I’m leaving town in a month. If you change your mind, you’ll make quite a few needy men very happy. Especially Sissy Boy.”

“Well, then. Maybe I’ll think about it.”

“You should. Seriously.”

“Do you really think I could hack it doing this?”

“I know you could. I’ll give you a couple of free lessons to get you a little more up to speed on a few things.”

“Y’know, I’d really like to see myself in action. You said you video everything, right?”

“Yep.”

“Can I get a copy of me and Sissy Boy?” Tara smiled coyly.

Mistress Krystal frowned. “No way. I never let anyone see those tapes. They’re confidential.”

“But if you want me to take over the show, I need to study my technique. I gotta learn to keep the customer satisfied, right?” said Tara, doing her best to look sincere. Mistress Krystal sipped her tea. “When would you need me to start?” Tara winked.

CHAPTER 18

“Did you ever figure out all that bull crap with the dominatrix chick? ‘Mistress Kickass’ or whatever she was called?” asked Lorraine, as she and Tara sunbathed on loungers by the club pool.

Tara smiled to herself. The sun felt good on her face. “Oh, that was all a misunderstanding,” Tara replied casually but Lorraine wasn’t buying it.

“No, no, no, no, no, Tara Drew. Don’t blow me off with that answer. I recall how upset you were. And now it’s no big deal? Do I look that naive? Come on!”

A young blonde Bodyworks server appeared with a drinks menu.

“Hi, ladies! Can I get you two something to drink?” Lorraine shooed her away as she waited for Tara to spill the beans.

“Clem was never seeing that Mistress Krystal woman after all,” Tara shrugged.

“Really? So, let me get this straight: He wasn’t seeing her even though he just so happened to be carrying around her business card in his pocket with
Tuesday at five o’clock
, written on the back of the card in his
own handwriting?
” Lorraine rolled her eyes. “Puh-leeze!”

“Clem swore he had no idea how that card got into his pocket. And it wasn’t his handwriting on the card either.”

Lorraine was incredulous. “Good grief woman! You must be the most gullible wife on the planet. What else was he going to say? Guy rule number one is ‘deny everything, admit nothing’ for Chrissakes. You should know that at your age. Oh, I’m so mad I wanna jump in that water right now!” Lorraine boomed.

Tara smiled knowingly. “Go ahead, jump. I believe him. Call it my woman’s intuition -- I know he wasn’t lying.”

“I would’ve hired a private investigator to follow his sorry ass around town till I got slam dunk evidence.” Lorraine bitched.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lorraine. I would never do something like that!” It seemed Tara’s ability to lie had be honed in recent weeks.

“Well, I sure would have. All men are pigs. So you know for
sure
he wasn’t seeing this Mistress Krystal?” Lorraine was still appalled at Tara’s naiveté.

Tara answered quietly. “Yup.”

“How?”

“Because
I
was seeing her.”

“Huh?”

“I was seeing Mistress Krystal.”

“You went to see her? You? As in you, Tara Drew?”

“Several times.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Yup.”

“What? Why?”

“I wanted her to teach me how to do what she does.”

“Oh, no you didn’t!” Lorraine squealed.

“Oh, yes I diddy,” Tara mocked back with a twinkle in her eyes. Lorraine was now confused, bemused and totally intrigued. She leaned over in her lounger to get closer.

“Are you shitting me, Tara Drew?”

“Nope. I called her up and asked her to give me lessons,” Tara admitted. “She said it would cost me three hundred bucks a pop so she became my teacher.”

“Holy crap! I cannot believe you really did that. You did that? Why?” Lorraine was both horrified and impressed at the same time.

“I needed a job,” Tara lied again.

“As a dominatrix? Are you kinky crazy? If you want a job take mine! My damn back’s killing me doing this yoga shit every day. Get back to your story.”

“That’s why I know for sure Clem
wasn’t
one of her clients.”

“So did you get to whack some of these perverts?” Lorraine was stunned that
Little Miss Goody Two Shoes
wasn’t quite as goody-goody as she’d always assumed.

“I did meet some interesting characters that’s for sure.”

“And you got to whip them?” Lorraine’s eyes widened.

“Few times.” Tara confessed.

“Tell me more about this woman,” Lorraine pressed, wanting to know all the juicy, gory details.

“Actually, I liked her. Nice woman.” Tara said, admitting for the first time to herself that Mistress Krystal was actually pretty cool.

“Nice woman? Give me a fucking break. Guys don’t pay her to be nice to them.”

Frank Bergenson’s chauffeur-driven black Lincoln Town car sped through downtown Minneapolis. Sitting in the back seat were Frank and Kurt Fitzgerald.

“Did you break the news to Clem yet?” Fitz asked.

“He knows,” Frank replied in his gravely voice.

“Good,” Fitz grinned.

Frank stared out the window at a large retail store that had gone out of business. “I don’t for a New York minute think that you’re a religious man, Fitz.”

Fitz chuckled. “Maybe not but if Molinaire asks, I was in the choir at Saint Patrick’s Catholic Church.”

“That ‘God Speed’ tagline is dumb. You know that.”

Fitz seemed unfazed. “Client is always right. Even when they’re wrong.”

“It’s not going to put my name on any awards,” Frank said, pointedly. “We’ll take the money this year. But next year you’ll need to bring home a Clio or two.”

“Don’t worry about next year, Frank. You’ll be basking on your yacht in the south of France by then, sailing into Monte Carlo.”

The black Lincoln turned onto Hennepin Avenue and stopped at a red light. Fitz was getting twitchy with excitement but Frank was feeling reflective.

“Yeah, I’m going to miss the place. I’ve been in this business for sixty one years.”

“Jesus. How old are you?”

“Seventy four. Started when I was thirteen in the mailroom at Ogilvy & Mather. Seems like just a few years ago.” Fitz gave Frank an admiring glance.

“Helluva run, Frank. Damn -- to survive that long in this cut throat business – that’s legend.”

“That’s because I was the guy cutting the throats,” Frank said without missing a beat. The light turned green and their car pulled away slowly along Washington Avenue.

“I’m making the announcement tomorrow night at the party. I hope I’ve made the right decision picking you as my successor.”

Fitz smiled. “You’ve molded me into your own image, Frank. How can you possibly be wrong?”

The Lincoln pulled up outside the television studios of WKBO, the local ABC affiliate, where Frank was being interviewed for the six o’clock news segment. The Minneapolis-St. Paul business community had voted Frank Bergenson
Business Leader Of The Year
. The award was more out of respect for the fact that Bergenson & Adler had become a Minneapolis institution. It seemed a fitting gesture as the old man stepped down and into retirement.

“Whatever happened to your old agency partner Lewis Adler?” Fitz asked Frank as they walked towards the building. “He vanished without a trace.”

“I caught him fucking my wife,” Frank said bluntly. “So I fucked his career and married his secretary.”

“Outstanding!”

Fitz had learnt more about the man he was replacing in one short car ride than in his two years at the agency. It was really only now that Fitz fully appreciated that he was stepping into the shoes of one bull-headed, hard-ass survivor, and he had every intention of carrying on where Frank Bergenson was leaving off.

“Where do you want us?” Fitz asked the floor director as he and Frank walked into the television studio.

“We only need Mr. Bergenson.”

“This is about me, not you, Fitz. Sit down and shut up,” Frank teased. “I still run the show till tomorrow, remember?”

“Then why’d you ask me along?” Fitz asked, a little miffed he wasn’t going to get his on-screen moment.

“Over here, Mr. Bergenson.” The floor director beckoned and pointed to an armchair beside a fake fireplace. Frank wandered over with a glance back at Fitz.

“I just wanted make sure I was handing over the keys of the house to the right guy, that’s all. By the way, what are your plans for Clem?”

“Clem who?” Fitz snarked back, still irked.

“Yeah, I thought so,” said Frank, as he took his seat in front of the cameras.

A make-up girl dabbed a little powder on Frank’s face as the crew took their places. Lucy Gerhardt, the attractive and leggy local news anchor at the network walked onto the set. Dressed sharply in a navy blue dress suit, she brushed passed Fitz who was standing in the wings. He winked at her and got a flash of a fake news anchor smile in return.

“Hi. I’m Kurt Fitzgerald.” Fitz gave her a wiggly-fingered wave. “I’m from the agency, too. I handle the Rebakor business.”

“Oh, am I interviewing you as well?” she asked, seemingly rather intrigued by the slick ad man.