Love Bound (14 page)

“It doesn’t have to be the
Flintstones.” She sipped her water. “And yes… if men who live that way are like
the guy who lectured last night… it is what I want.”

“Thanks.” Rick smiled up
at the waitress as she set a plate of lemon wedges next to his glass.

The blonde smiled. “No
problem—I’ll take this up when you’re ready.” The waitress slipped the leather
case containing the bill in front of Laura who looked at it with her lips
pursed.

“I thought this was what
feminism tried so hard to fight against?” Rick squeezed a lemon into his water.
“Men in control, women being subservient. You really want to be subservient to
me?”

She sighed and pushed her
chair back from the table. “I have to pee.”

Rick was signaling the
waitress again for something as Laura made her way to the bathroom. She closed
the stall door and swallowed a scream. Her face felt hot and dry, her throat
constricted and her whole body felt like one big clenched muscle. How could he
not understand what it was that she wanted from him? How could he be so blind?

When she left the stall,
she washed her hands, glancing at her reflection in the mirror as she held them
under a dryer. The air was blowing her long dark hair over her shoulder. There
were two rosy spots on her cheeks, the glow that always crept in whenever she
was angry or upset. Straightening her blouse and tucking it into the waistband
of her long flowered skirt, she wondered if this was just as good as it ever
got. Maybe it was.

The check was still
sitting there at the table, untouched. Rick was using his last sausage to clean
the syrup from his plate. He smiled up at her and winked. On a whim, she pulled
her chair around and sat next to him, her thigh rubbing up against his under
the table.

“Hey, there’s my girl.” He
put his arm around her and leaned back with a little groan, his hand covering
his belly. “That was a good breakfast. You ready for another day in Bedrock?
Maybe the Great Gazoo will be able to help us, huh?”

Laura laughed in spite of
herself, letting her body relax against his side. Maybe good enough just
was—good enough.

* * * *

“Why are you here?” The
question stopped Laura, and she felt herself recoiling from it. She stared into
the dark, penetrating gaze of the facilitator that Rick called “The Great
Gazoo,” and found that she couldn’t keep the truth from him, as much as her
rational mind tried to stop her.
Not in front of all these people! What are
you thinking?

“He doesn’t know this…”
She glanced guiltily over at Rick. “But I told myself that if this workshop
didn’t change things between us, I was going to leave.”

“So is this your
ultimatum?” Gazoo asked. Laura couldn’t help thinking of him as Gazoo,
now—especially since they had to choose “fake names” for themselves, and Rick
had dubbed them “Wilma” and “Fred.”

“The Great Gazoo” looked
down at Rick. Laura could feel the eyes of the entire room on them; a thousand
people were here, all watching.

“I guess.” Laura shrugged,
talking into the cordless microphone he had given her. “I just don’t know how
to get him to change. I try—I’ve tried giving him things to do, putting him in
charge of things around the house…”

“Whoa!” Gazoo’s were
bright as he held his hand up to stop her. He looked at Rick, raising his
eyebrows. “Is that true? Has she put you in charge of things around the house?”

“Uh…” Rick’s eyes slanted
over to his wife as Gazoo gave him the microphone. “Yeah. I guess. I was in
charge of the bills for a while—but then she took it all back.”

“Well, after four hundred
dollars in bounced check fees…” Laura started, but stopped when Gazoo held up
his hand again.

“Does she ever tell you
how she’s feeling?” he asked Rick. “Does she ever express her emotion
spontaneously in the moment? The feminine is like water—she flows, all the
time. One minute, she’s up, the next she’s down. She’s all over the place. Does
that describe your wife?”

Rick swallowed. “Uh… no.”

“You don’t trust this
man.” Laura winced when Gazoo turned back to her.

“Yes, I do.” She put her
hand on Rick’s arm. “Of course I do, he’s my husband.”

“You say you do.” Gazoo
shook his head. “Look, you say you want him to be the masculine energy in your
relationship, yes? You’re tired of being the one in charge, and you want to be
able to relax into your feminine flow, right? Isn’t that why you’re here?”

Laura nodded, in spite of
the fact that she didn’t like the way this sounded.

“But how can you expect a
man to take charge, to be your direction and guidance, if you don’t trust him
to lead you?”

Laura shook her head, but
she had tears in her eyes.

“I have a practice for
you, if you’re willing to do it.”

“A practice?” Rick sounded
unsure.

“For the next twenty-four
hours,” Gazoo went on. “I don’t want your wife to do anything without your
guidance and direction. And I mean anything. She can’t even pee without you
feeling into what she needs and wants.”

“Can I talk?” Laura’s eyes
widened.

“You can talk if he says
you can,” Gazoo replied. “But I suggest that it be a non-verbal practice. And
if it is… how are you going to tell him what you need or want?”

Laura bit her lip, her
eyes falling to the auditorium floor.

“Do you think you can do
that?” he asked them. Laura and Rick looked at each other, doubtful. “Let me
just get a show of hands. Who else thinks that this a good practice for these
two?”

Laura stared around in
wonder as a thousand hands shot into the air. She didn’t like the idea—it
scared the hell out of her—but she had told herself that she would do anything
to change things between them. Was she willing?

“What do you say?” Gazoo
asked. “It’s up to you—it’s not a mandate. Just a practice. Twenty-four hours
of your life.”

Laura grabbed the
microphone from Rick, blurting, “Yes! We’ll do it.”

Her response had the whole
auditorium laughing as Rick sat there, dumbstruck.

Gazoo chuckled, too, his
dark eyes settling on Rick. “You’ve got your work cut out for you, man. Is she
always like this?”

Rick grimaced and nodded.
“Yeah.”

“Not always…” Laura
interjected, sitting forward. Gazoo held up his hand to her again, shaking his
head.

“Did he tell you to
speak?” The man raised his eyebrows. Laura’s mouth dropped open as he took the
microphone from her. “Consider the practice started.”

Rick’s eyes widened and he
looked bemused as he glanced over at Laura. Gazoo appeared satisfied and moved
on to another couple. She crossed her arms and sat back in her seat, feeling
her face beginning to flush.

Maybe this whole thing was
like some strange time warp—she felt stifled and put into her place. That
wasn’t what at all how she imagined this would feel. She swallowed and glanced
back over at “The Great Gazoo,” working his magic on another couple—if magic is
what it was. I wish it was that easy, she thought and gave a deep sigh. Rick
didn’t seem to notice.

* * * *

Rick had to come back for
her at dinner time. She didn’t know how far he’d made it before he realized she
wasn’t with him, but the auditorium was nearly empty and her stomach was
growling. She saw Gazoo watching her, his eyebrows raised. She just sat there,
in her chair, her arms crossed, waiting and fuming. She knew that those rosy
patches were appearing on her cheeks—she could never stop that.

She glared at Gazoo as he
shuffled through papers on the podium. This was what she was supposed to do,
right? Wait for Rick to tell her what to do? She imagined she had laser beams
for eyes to cut Gazoo in two for suggesting this little “practice” in the first
place. Her jaw clenched and unclenched. She was so hungry now that she was
getting shaky.

“You know…” Gazoo stopped
by her on the way out, speaking softly. “There are nonverbal ways to
communicate your feelings. Have you considered that?”

She looked up at him,
opening her mouth to speak and then remembering that she couldn’t, without
Rick’s permission. She whirled to look for him, but he was still nowhere to be
found. She turned back to Gazoo, sticking out her tongue at him.

“Yes!” He gave a little
laugh. “Good! Gimme some more of that!”

She felt her anger
welling, bubbling to the surface. She gave him the finger, her eyes blazing.

“Yeah!” His voice moved
lower. “That’s what I’m talking about. Give your man some more of that. He not
only wants it—he needs it. Trust me.”

She glowered at him,
reaching out and shoving her hand against his hip. He didn’t move, but she saw
his eyes were brighter, wider, with that same look she’d seen before, as if he
was looking right into her.

“Trust him,” Gazoo grabbed
her hand as she reached out to shove him again. “Just keep giving it to him,
whatever it is—whatever you’re feeling. You’re doing great.”

His praise made her stop,
and she turned as she heard Rick puffing down the aisle as he jogged toward
them. “I’m sorry.” He held a hand out to her. “I forgot. I’m sorry.”

She stood, putting her
hands on his chest and pushing hard. He didn’t expect it, and he stumbled,
catching himself on the back of a chair.

“Hey!” Rick’s brow
wrinkled. “I said I was sorry.”

“Word of advice.” Gazoo
walked around them. “Stop apologizing.”

Rick snapped his mouth
shut, frowning.

“She doesn’t care what you
did a minute ago, or a year ago,” Gazoo continued, saying it over his shoulder
as he walked past. “She cares about what you’re doing now. Right now. Good
luck, you two.”

Laura was standing with
her arms crossed, her mouth drawn, feeling faint from hunger, her bladder full
to bursting. They stood there, looking at each other, neither sure how to
proceed.

“Are you hungry?” he
asked. Laura nodded, fast and furious, taking his outstretched hand. He pulled
her to him in the nearly empty auditorium.

“I don’t want you to
leave,” he said into her hair, holding her so close that she could barely
breathe. “I’ll do whatever it is I have to do, whatever you want…”

Laura growled, wiggling
and writhing against him.

“What?” He let her go and
shook his head. “What did I say?”

She smacked her forehead,
rolling her eyes.

Rick sighed. “Come on,
let’s go eat.” He was nearly to the door again before he realized she wasn’t
following, and he had to go back and grab her hand to pull her along.

Dinner was a disaster.
They were all supposed to eat dinner together in the island retreat center’s
cafeteria, and she felt as if everyone’s eyes were on them as they made their
way through the line. Rick kept asking if she wanted this, or this, or this—and
she just kept shaking her head. She watched his tray fill up with food, while
hers stayed empty. They got to the end of the line, and Rick realized that all
their money was in her purse.

“Are you sure you don’t
want anything?” Rick unslung her purse from her shoulder and looked for her wallet.
He handed a twenty over to the cashier to cover their drinks, which were not
included. “I thought you were hungry?”

Laura grabbed her empty
tray and threw it on the floor. She threw it so hard that the orange surface
cracked as it skidded across the tile. Everyone was definitely looking at them
now!

“Hey!” The cashier
frowned. “What the hell?”

Laura stomped her foot,
her arms crossed over her chest. She could feel her cheeks burning with color,
and tears pricked her eyes. Her stomach was protesting—it was nearly seven o’clock and she hadn’t eaten since noon.

Rick was standing with her
purse in his hands and his mouth hanging open. The look on his face infuriated
her, and she screamed. It was something primal, rising from deep in her belly.

For the first time in
days, weeks, months, perhaps years, her throat felt unconstricted. She screamed
and stomped her feet, jumping up and down on the tray. She nearly fell,
catching herself on the tray rails, and she shook those, too, for good measure,
although they didn’t move.

“Uh, Laura…?” Rick was
blinking fast, looking around them, his face turning red.

She screamed again, long
and sustained, grabbed his tray and swung around, threw it like a discus over
her shoulder. The woman behind them in line screamed in surprise, taking an
instinctive step backwards. It sailed through the air, spilling packaged rolls
and fruit cups and salad as it went.

Laura was breathing hard,
her hands clenched into tight fists. Rick’s jaw was tight, and she saw the line
on his forehead appear, the one that showed up when he was really angry.

“All right, Helen Keller…”
He grabbed her arm before she could throw anything else. Laura gasped at the
tightness of his grip.

“I’m sorry about that,” he
apologized to the cashier. “Do you need me to clean it?”