Out of the Dungeon (26 page)

She flipped the phone closed.

"Kiss-kiss?" Suede asked. "What the hell is
that? You sweet on Roman now? Boy, you sure get around."

"Whoa. What's your trouble, Suede?" Vanessa
asked, knowing full well that Suede's trouble was the intake of a
large amount of alcohol in a short amount of time. "Did you start
drinking before breakfast?"

"What does that have to do with
anything?"

Patrick laughed. "She's still drinking from
last night. Hasn't even been to bed yet."

"Shut the fuck up, Patrick. This is none of
your business. What's the deal, Vanessa, are you suddenly not a
lesbian?"

Vanessa felt her eyes narrow at the intended
insult. She gestured to Patrick. "I could ask the same about
you."

"I told you," Suede said. "He's an old
friend. We just ran into each other. Besides, it's not like you and
I have some exclusive relationship or anything."

"You're right," Vanessa said. "So what
difference does it make if I'm seeing Roman?"

Suede took a swig off her beer and almost
choked. "You're seeing Roman? Since when? What the fuck, Vanessa? I
thought we had something going on."

Vanessa shook her head, quelling an impulse
to point out that Suede was being irrational. "So did I. But I
guess if it's all right for you to trash our plans and go off with
someone else, it's all right if I hang out with Roman
sometimes."

"I'm not comfortable with that," Suede said,
and she stared right into Vanessa's eyes, unblinking.

Vanessa stared back, wishing insanely that
Suede was a different sort of person, less selfish, more
considerate. Less drunk.

But Suede was what she was, and for a little
while Vanessa had been allowed to hold her, even if Suede was
already slipping away. Trying to hold onto Suede was like trying to
hold onto smoke. Impossible.

"Roman and I are having a baby," Vanessa
said, deciding that it would be kinder to just get that part of
things out in the open, right now.

Suede reeled back as if Vanessa had slapped
her. "What the fuck?" She shuddered. "Have the both of you gone
completely mad?"

"Maybe," Vanessa said. "It's not like it
happened on purpose."

"Oh, Jesus. Well, just get rid of it. It's
not that big of a deal."

"I could. I thought about that. But… well, I
don't know, it's kind of exciting."

Suede shuddered again. "Not even remotely.
But I guess now I know why you've been drinking water all
night."

Vanessa nodded.

"When the hell did you and Roman hook up like
that, and why didn't you tell me?"

"It happened when Jeff was first in the
hospital. You and I did our thing on the stage at the club, and
then you ignored me, and Roman took me home. I was in a weird
headspace."

"And he took advantage of that? What an
asshole."

Vanessa shook her head. "No, no. It wasn't
like that at all. I practically raped him. In fact, I apologized to
him the next day. And that pretty much was the end of it. Until
this."

Suede seemed like she was settling down,
getting less pissed. Thank God.

"So, it's my fault." Suede said.

Or not.

"I never said that," Vanessa wished she could
think of some way to escape, because drunk Suede wasn't exactly
manageable.

"But you're implying that if I had taken care
of you properly, none of this would be happening."

"I never implied any such thing. You were
having fun. It was fine. Taking care of people isn't your thing. I
get that."

"Oh, you know me so well, do you? So, what's
my thing, then?"

Vanessa was trapped. There was nothing she
could say that would be the right answer, because there was no
right answer. But she didn't have to think of anything immediately,
because Suede was on a roll.

"I can't believe you never told me. Best
girlfriends tell each other stuff."

Yeah, Vanessa thought, and they don't show up
for a date with an extra person in tow. She glanced at Patrick, who
was listening avidly, eyes wide, big sloppy grin on his face.

"I was embarrassed," she said. "And I didn't
think Roman would appreciate that kind of thing going around."

Suede snorted. "Yeah, he's really going to
appreciate it now."

Vanessa shrugged. "He likes taking care of
people. And you know, right now his whole world has disappeared, so
maybe he needs this. Maybe we both do."

"You're dreaming," Suede said. "You're bi,
but he's not. He's gay, so this whole happy little hetero family
thing you've got in your head? Not happening."

"Now you're just being mean," Vanessa said.
"I'm going home. Be safe."

The fact that it wasn't as hard to leave
Suede as it should have been was almost Vanessa's undoing. These
past few months had been a roller coaster of high emotion, but more
up than down, and Vanessa had been enjoying the ride until Jeff's
accident. And then it was too much up and down. Suede's
inconsiderate habits started to hurt. Little hurts and bigger
hurts. Now sometimes all Vanessa could see was Suede's selfishness,
continually pursuing the pleasure of the moment without ever giving
a thought to anyone else.

But ultimately, losing Jeff's friendship was
more painful than Suede flaunting her flings in Vanessa's face.

Or at least that's what Vanessa told herself
as she walked out of Jake's Saloon.

She went home and called her parents in
Belize to tell them the news.

They sounded as thrilled as anyone as far
away as Belize could be. "Are you feeling sick yet?" her mother
asked. "Because I felt sick right away. I threw up first thing in
the morning for three months when I was pregnant with you, but
after that it was a breeze."

"Mornings are okay," Vanessa said, smiling,
"but I threw up a couple times last night. Otherwise not so
bad."

"Stay away from eggs," her mom advised.
"Especially the white part."

Vanessa's stomach rolled at the memory of egg
whites. "Yeah, I figured that one out already."

She could hear her dad in the background,
"What are you talking about, Margie? Am I going to be a
grandfather? Am I going to have to pay for a wedding?"

Vanessa laughed. "Tell dad to take it easy,
he's not going to have to pay for a wedding."

"Oh dear," her mother clucked her tongue.
"Young people these days. You do things so different. What about
the boy, dear, what's his name?"

Hearing her mom refer to Roman as a boy made
Vanessa giggle. "His name is Roman. He's a good man. You'd probably
like him, once you got over his tattoos."

"What kind of tattoos?"

"I don't know, snakes, dragons, that sort of
thing. He's looks a little scary." That was an understatement.
Vanessa had always thought Roman looked a lot scary. "But he's
kind," she added, remembering his check in phone call. "He's happy
about this. He's going to call me to see how I am doing."

"Call you? From where? What is this, some
kind of internet dating thing? How does that work?"

"No, no," Vanessa said. "He's taking care of
his grandmother in Minnesota right now, and he's not sure when
he'll get back."

"He's in Minnesota," her mom repeated to her
dad. "Taking care of his granny."

"Minnesota, now that's a fine place to raise
a family, probably better schools than Belize," Vanessa heard her
dad say. "Belize has its fine points, but education's not one of
them. Of course, it's not New York. New York's no place for a
child."

"All right," Vanessa said to her mom. "I just
wanted to tell you the news. I'm going to go get some rest now.
I'll call you with updates. Kiss-kiss to both of you. Bye."

She could feel the smile on her face as she
hung up the phone. Give her parents ten minutes and she'd be
married off and moving to the Midwest. But they sounded happy to
hear the news, and that was exactly what Vanessa needed from
them.

She'd put the phone down for all of twelve
minutes when it chimed the receipt of a text message. Now what?
Drunken apology from Suede?

Well. It was a message from Suede, but it
wasn't quite an apology.

WTF, are you fucking crazy???

G
igi's invitation
almost didn't get him in. "Naughtygranny, eh?" the guy at the door
said, looking Roman over from toes to head. "I'm pretty sure you're
not a naughty granny. I ought not to let you in."

"Dude." Roman said. "Seriously? My
grandmother gave me her invite. Swear."

The bouncer grinned. "Funny thing. Few years
ago one of our local boys built a fucking machine. A whole group of
us trooped off to New York and installed it at the Museum of Sex,
where it resides to this day. And I'm pretty sure I saw you at a
kick-ass club with a full dungeon. In fact, I'm pretty sure you
were the Dungeon Master."

Roman smiled. "Which is why you're letting me
in?"

"If you tell me a name that rings the right
bell, it's a go. And if I get in trouble for breaking the rules,
you have to be the one to punish me."

"Fair's fair," Roman said. "I'm Roman." He
offered his hand.

"That's the right bell. Nice to meet you,
Roman. I'm Tim." Tim shook Roman's hand and cuffed his shoulder at
the same time.

"Nice to be remembered fondly," Roman
said.

The inside looked like a strip club gone bad.
Really, really bad. The space was a large rectangle with stations
made up of furniture and scattered seating along the right and left
walls. Both front and back walls had bars and bartenders.

In the center of the space was a stage.
Almost like a theater in the round. Except for two brass poles.
Strip club, for sure. But there weren't any dancing girls, just a
St. Andrews cross set between the poles. Roman couldn't resist
stepping onto the stage to examine it. It was a well-made piece,
excellent craftsmanship, solid and safe. Roman approved.

The structure of the place was good. Lots of
room for entertainment. Fairly easy access to drinks. Not a bunch
of kitschy décor for distraction.

His hands caressed the wood of the bondage
cross for a moment, then stepped down and went to the bar to order
a drink.

He'd come in to the right of the bar at the
front wall, and now leaned against the bar rail, watching
people.

A few paces away a young man was doing just
about the same, sitting on one of two low chairs arranged on either
side of a low table, again reminiscent of a nudie bar. Comfy chairs
for watching dancing girls. Ha.

Roman looked for a DJ booth, but didn't see
one.

The young man in the lounge chair swiveled
slightly around, just enough so he could watch Roman without
appearing too obvious. Roman acknowledged him with a small nod, and
received a nod back.

Roman was early. There were a few people
adjusting work stations and play spaces, but as yet no one was
either working or playing.

Now and then groups of two and three came
through the door. They tended to pause, look around, and find
someone to greet. Often they greeted the guy with the sandy hair,
but the interactions were brief, as if he didn't quite belong.

An hour and two drinks later, the club was
filling up, and everyone seemed to know everyone else, and they all
gave Roman sideways looks and a wide berth.

The guy from the lounge chair approached the
bar and ordered a drink. "They're all wondering who the hell you
are," he said. "It's an invitation-only party."

Roman took a good look at him. Younger than
himself, surely, but not terribly young, light brown hair, almost
blonde. Blue eyes with odd flecks of yellow. A friendly face with
honest eyes. "Name's Roman," Roman said. "My grandmother gave me
her invitation."

"NaughtyGranny?" the guy asked.

"Yep."

The guy laughed. "That's priceless."

Roman shrugged. "She's feisty."

"Yeah, she is," they guy agreed. "She posts
the most outrageous things in some of the groups. Gets people all
wound up. There was a whole faction of people hoping to meet her
tonight."

"They get me, instead."

The guy looked Roman over. "Lucky them. Lucky
me."

Roman grinned. "Pretty tight community,
hmm?"

People had greeted this guy as they walked
past him, exchanged a few words, then moved on. He'd stayed in his
lounge chair, watching everyone. He hadn't joined any particular
group, nor had anyone joined him.

"Yeah, it's tight."

"What's your name?" Roman asked.

"Oh, sorry. I'm Jason."

"Don't you have any particular friends here?"
Roman asked.

Jason shrugged. "Yes and no. I know who
everybody is. But I'm actually shy."

"You don't seem shy. You're talking to me
when nobody else is."

Jason blushed, and that made Roman like
him.

"I'm shy in that I don't get naked at these
shindigs. I don't offer up my cock and nipples for random torture."
He paused as an overweight woman wearing a fishnet body stocking
edged past them. There were deep red and purple welts on her
monstrous sagging breasts. Black electrical tape criss-crossed her
nipples. Over-sized clothes pins bit into her nipples through the
tape. Roman almost shuddered. Jason was still talking. "I've never
gotten in line for a flogging from Master Zen." He nodded at a
flogging station, and Roman saw a tall, thin white guy with messy
dishwater dreadlocks attaching a large-breasted bottle blonde to a
post. She had ear buds in her ears and an iPod in her hand, ready
for action.

"I didn't jump at the chance to join Mistress
Keri's stable, although she invited me," Jason said, and jutted his
chin toward the far right corner, where a pixie with short black
hair was fitting a bit into the mouth of a fifty-something year old
man. The man's sun-shy thighs already sported soft red handprints.
As Roman watched, she slapped him again, and even from across the
room Roman could see the man's eyes soften into the bliss of
submission. The pixie, Mistress Keri, Roman presumed, had a perfect
hour-glass figure, encased in shiny black latex, and her shiny
black boots sported spurs at the heels. She slapped her bitted sub
twice more, then turned away to lift a saddle to his back.