Obsession (9780061887079) (2 page)

Bee

 

There was
no
mistake—these letters were written to Talbot. Shocked, I started to read the letter over, but there were more—and now I knew her name—Bee. Dying, yet strangely disturbed, excited—I opened another.

 

Master,

With mighty effort (I congratulate myself) was I able to conduct myself with nerveless poise throughout the Yab-Yum, despite the ravishing beauty of Nadine who far outshone me I fear. But no matter—for it is me you choose. That Maja made me wait these many days before summoning me to
her private quarters when after the ritual she knew your decision immediately is her way of asserting control of this establishment, but why not? It is after all her combination of wisdom, intelligence, and business acumen that makes Janus Club the oasis it is for I'm certain there is no club in the world where the members are treated so royally and with such courtesy and luxury. I knew full well she expected Nadine to be the one favored, but her ego is such that when informing me of your decision she intimated that she secretly had expected me to be the recipient of the honor about to be bestowed. “Yes, Bee,” she said as I sat there not knowing what was to come, “when you first came to Janus Club I sensed in you a creativity that would serve us well—some creative people seem to have only a tenuous sense of their own identity, and I suspected that you came to us searching for yours. Talbot will give you opportunities to find it. You're like lit
mus paper, easily identifying yourself with others, but though multi-faceted as a diamond you lack belief in your own uniqueness, and therefore feel an especial need to assert yourself and preserve what you feel to be precarious—perfect qualifications for what I look for in my goddesses. But I cannot warn you strongly enough—you must hold fast onto the deepest part of yourself—this is the essential component of success—take a tip from Nadine, who is far more experienced than you, for she has mastered this well—so child, listen to your Mamacita—don't be foolish.” I sat speechless as she congratulated me, going on to explain, “Talbot wants structure in his life and has set up a modus vivendi: The Rules.” She cautioned in a motherly way how crucial it was to follow them to the letter if I was to make a success of my liaison with you and the good fortune it would bring. “Listen carefully, Bee. I know Talbot well—he is incapable of real intimacy—
the unconditional sharing of thoughts and feelings with another person so that they become almost another self—it threatens the complete inner freedom that is essential to him for his art. And like all artistic geniuses he suffers from mood disorders, bursts of energy, cocksure agility, quicksilver thinking, shadowed by streaks of irritability. He's too generous, grandiose, takes too many reckless chances—his imagination is beyond grasp. If you can deal with all this you'll make a go of it—also accept that he alternates between orgies of work and orgies of pleasure—and in spite of his gross overwork he's almost always late in fulfilling contracts—but leave this territory to his wife, Priscilla, who from what I hear would be capable of managing IBM.” I begged her to tell me about her, but Maja shook her head. “The less you know about her the better it will be—don't think about her. She has nothing to do with you.” That will be easy for I think of noth
ing but you, over the moon that you have chosen me. I would have fainted dead away had I known that first night weeks ago when you first walked into Janus Club that your mission was to find a permanent Mistress—or “Maîtresse” as Maja would say. Had I known that was your intent how intimidated I would have been when Maja told me I was to sojourn on your yacht Talcilla (Nadine invited first). When she returned I questioned her, but she brushed me off, saying only, “They were charming days in the Caribbean.” And a month later I found myself on the Talcilla, where time did not exist as we drifted in warm seas, swam in blue grottoes, had long leisurely lunches on the deck, prepared by your master chef Jean-Claude, of fish we had caught that morning, and after finding refuge from the heat of the sun in the cool of your stateroom, my body coming alive in ways I never knew existed, the surprises (finding the turquoise enamel Fabergé
egg encrusted with sapphires—in an egg cup on my breakfast tray). Oh Master—more than heaven—paradise. Maja is puffed up with pride by success—not to mention that you have reimbursed her more than magnificently for my exclusive attentions and provided for Nadine who, although rejected, is also more than satisfied by your generosity, as are all who participated. After telling me my good fortune she handed me a small square cream-colored box, saying, “Talbot is in Switzerland as we speak but he left this for me to give you.” I opened the box and nestled inside was what appeared to be a skein of silk rope, coiled like a golden snake, but upon being taken out of the box, it rippled down into a dress, pleats of softest silk stitched with gold-flecked Venetian glass beads. “This is a tea-gown designed by Mariano Fortuny,” Maja told me—“one which belonged to Talbot's grandmother (well, reader, we
know he's complicated)—these dresses are legendary, having been worn by the likes of Sarah Bernhardt and Isadora Duncan—described by Proust in
Remembrance of Things Past.
That he considers you worthy of wearing it tells us something about his regard for you.” When I slipped it over my head it touched my body like the softness of a second skin slithering down into a pool of golden silk around my feet. Maja stood, admiring, telling me, “You'll wear this dress when you and Talbot are having tea—but on special occasions only. Choose them wisely.”

And then, oh Master, that day of days, that wondrous day when you came to claim me. Maja's atelier worked day and night to complete my dress—layers of white tulle embroidered with diamanté and crystal stars, the strapless décolleté fitting so snugly I could hardly breathe, or was it the excitement of knowing that soon I would be forever
yours?

The alcoves in the balconies around the ballroom were packed with astonished members of Janus Club as they leaned forward to witness my entrance seated on a unicorn (how in god's name did Maja find one? Only she could come up with something like this). Nadine and Rowena, veils of spangled gauze floating around the lush beauty of their bodies, naked save for jeweled thongs, Nadine's dark tresses entwined with pearls, Rowena's corn-silk hair sprinkled with jet and diamanté as they led the procession, beating tambourines on which floated silver and gold streamers interwoven with bells.

And there you stood in the magic circle, holding out your arms, as I leaped from the unicorn to stand by your side. Ceremoniously you opened a black lacquered coffer painted with fan-tailed doves and white blossoms, taking from it a ring—big as a
lump of sugar, blue as my eyes, and placed it on the middle finger of my left hand, saying:

“Bee—this ring is a star sapphire called The Star of Destiny; it has three crossing rays favored on the gem signifying The Triple Goddess of Fate.” From behind me someone (Maja?) was placing a mask fashioned from wings of a dove and marabou feathers over my eyes but all I heard was your voice saying:

“Akeru gods are supernatural lions guarding the gates of sunset and sunrise and between them runs the dark passage of the underworld through which the sun must pass each night. Akeru gods are two-faced Sphinx, a sort of animal Janus supporting between its heads the sun disc on the horizon. They are the lions of Yesterday and Today, their two-headed push-me-pull-you form is the symbol of Time and as I am taking you through a dark passage into light I have named our paradise Akeru
and you shall be its Queen. It is deeded in your name with a fortune to support it and yourself forever.”

Although my eyes were covered by a blindfold I swear I heard jaws drop as you revealed the generosity of this gift.

“Come Bee, it is time to set forth on our journey.”

As you led me away to—I knew not where—snow sifted gently down on my face as you whispered, “Bee, my queen…”

The time traveled by plane was long and tedious, and I was sometimes fearful during the journey as you sat silent by my side not holding my hand or speaking.

At last we arrived. I could hear the sound of water which I thought came from a brook, but when you removed the mask I found myself standing by a fountain centered in the courtyard of a house high in the mountains, overlooking valleys
of green hills and, beyond, the sea. And lo and behold! I couldn't believe my eyes—there below us in the valley was the unicorn grazing on meadow flowers. Warm air caressed with the scent of night jasmine as the sky darkened, taking my hand you led me through a gate cascading with bougainvillea toward the house until we came to a double door crafted with mother-of-pearl inlaid in ebony. I stood marveling at the intricacy of a mosaic of a double-tailed siren inlaid in the wood, and, embossed above this—Akeru—

“The double-tailed siren is the sea goddess, whose pose refers to the female mystery—see the crest I've designed for you—a crown and bee—there, between her double-tail.”

Opening the doors you led me into the house through rooms splashed with color.

“Your colors, Bee, those which suit you best.”

Emerald green, pale dove-gray, persimmon,
the yellow of lemons, chartreuse, here and there pillows of magenta silk, and on mirrored tables, crystal bowls of apricot and mauve roses, pots of speckled gloxinias gathered from the gardens, porcelain bowls holding scented potpourri, until we came to our bed chamber.

Its simplicity startled compared to the extravagant rooms we had just passed through. Walls papered with silver tea paper, floors lacquered white as patent leather, and centered in the room—a bed canopied with gauzes floated by breezes coming through the white shuttered doors opening onto an enclosed garden, where a table had been set for supper, candles lit (by whose hand?). But instead of partaking of the repast, you made love to me for the first time in my own house, so tenderly, so violently, that I fell asleep unafraid in your arms (I'll remember that night forever).

At dawn I was awakened by the sounds of fan
tailed doves making love with tender monotonous cooings in the enclosed garden. But believe me Master, it was no fun as I reached out for you to find I was alone. Panicked I ran through the empty house, on out into the gardens where a woman dressed in black approached, her demeanor somber.

“Mr. Talbot had business to attend to and left early this morning. May I suggest shopping—there are fine shops near Montecito in Santa Barbara or a drive perhaps by the sea? The car is at your disposal.”

It was that day I learned The Rule most difficult to accept. That your visits may be infrequent, and future visits will be decided by how I comport myself by expressing no signs of dissatisfaction or jealousy. Believe me, Master, you shall have no reason to doubt my behavior, which (sooner than you might think) will confirm I am deserving of—dare I suggest?—more frequent visits. It matters not, for
when you do arrive—such as at your last visit—you will be enchanted that I have filled a bowl with warm, sugared cream ready to circle my breasts, exciting them to swell into the size you most favor for biting. Knowing they were fair bursting to be treated less gently you held back until I couldn't stand it a moment longer and had to beg before you gave surcease with the mercy of your teeth. You never deny me. How can I not crave more? How can I not wonder how long must I be made to wait this time? You mentioned some trip with Wife, but when? And for how long?

Bee

 

My Beloved Talbot,

Do you know how happy you have made me? I thereby reiterate again and swear honestly and truly to keep The Rules, confirm once again you
own me exclusively, Master, to instruct in any manner of your choice. Also honestly and truly tell you—no man (or woman) has ever thrilled or excited me as you.

Royally you treat me and I am grateful to you with all my heart. No Queen has ever been given a more extravagant gift—a house designed and built for her by Talbot Bingham, described in
Architectural Digest
as “one who may be noted in history as controversial, yet perhaps America's most important architect.” (I added this clipping to my Florentine gold-tooled scrapbook—a parting gift from Maja.) Not to mention the lavish presents of money put in trust, which gives me independence to never again have fears for the future.

Sometimes musing over days at Janus Club before we met, I must confess there is one girl there—a seductive, insinuating creature—Rowena, her erotic allure is such that she is quite as fascinating
to many women as she is to men. I was drawn to her plumpness, which is that of a partridge; every time she settled into a cushion, as if nesting on unhatched eggs, I would fancy I was one, about to be hatched and find her sweet bottom to nuzzle into. We were all attracted to her (even the aloof Nadine), and, of course, she had a waiting list from members of Janus Club who paid dearly for her attentions. Though busy, she still took time off to give demonstrations. I was flattered when I was one chosen, for she is a magician with hand and tongue, never rough or hostile in her attitude, as some of the goddesses who secretly only prefer sex with men. Her manners never brusque or rude, always mindful of another's pleasure as well as her own. There never was a time I did not eagerly collaborate should she ask my assistance in stretching a new arrival's tulip, always taking into consideration the poor girl's fears if the client demanded it stretched too severely
to better accommodate his cock. Instead, if the girl felt apprehensive, Rowena would suggest another, more experienced to deal with what can sometimes be an unnecessarily painful ritual.