The Alexandra Series (87 page)

“So you really think I’m a whore?” she asked, remembering that accusation.

“I certainly think despicable things of you when you misbehave,” he said. He made her turn so he could look at her face as the water beat down on her back. “The truth is,” he softened much as he spoke, “I find you so gloriously perfect, I can’t stand the sight of anyone having you without my directing that moment. You are so precious to me, Jocelyn. I regret that I ever allowed you to leave. And I will do everything to keep you with me this time. If it should take a lock and key, poetry, begging, loving you to death. I will do it.”

He was stroking her hair, running his fingers through the wet locks that stuck to her drenched skin. Kissing her, he seemed intent on swallowing her up. She didn’t tell him that she orgasmed as he massaged her ass and pussy. He was being strictly sensuous and tender, but with such fervor and sincerity, she took from him something sexual that she needed.

Chapter Eight

The opening for Will Kozak’s photographic expose was held in Dunning Sharrow’s loft which had become a first class art gallery. Dun had moved in all his favorite works of art. They now covered the make-shift walls inside the open spaces of the old industrial building. One entire floor of the gallery was highlighted by ceilings reaching into the heavens, fitted with pipes that went to nowhere any more, and dangling with old light fixtures that added classy elegance to the mix of contemporary styles sitting side by side in that venue. A warm glow of light from the old fixtures eased the stark quality of the black and white photography. It was Will’s most stunning showing to date. The images on paper were scenes of poverty, restless children attempting to laugh, bums on the street with sagacious smiles as though they knew something the rest of the world did not, and the heartbreak of institutionalized stupor on other faces—of men and women in a rundown old-folks home where meaningless lives ticked off the last ticks of their terrestrial clock.

The hard-edged quality of Will’s stills should have led to a somber mood in the gallery. But this opening was one of those affairs where few people took in the content of the work, except for the critics that had been invited to a more subdued showing that afternoon. By eight in the evening however, the showing turned into a party, and Alexandra Kozak could begin to relax and greet her husband’s guests.

She looked like a flower in the middle of the expanse of black and white. Her dress, a small summer shift showered with colorful flowers, was enough to accentuate the blonde hair she left long and falling to her shoulders. Will had asked her to keep her attire simple and casual, despite the black tux look of many that poured through the doors for champagne and hors d’oeurves. Will himself was dressed in black silk, draping pants and a collarless shirt, his graying hair shorter than usual, recently cut. He had a strong nose, soft yet deep-set eyes and a broad masculine smile. Alex noted how his face had aged over the seven years she’d known him. He aged with style as an artist would, and was for this night his most animated speaking with people who cared about the work he cared about. There was no clue about the man who could brood endlessly, sometimes leaving her feeling distant from him and edgy for that fact.

By the time the gallery was full of patrons, Alex was weary, something she wanted to avoid. And yet on nights like this it was almost impossible not to feel the strain of three weeks preparation catching up with her. It had not been three good weeks for their marriage, but at least the event was almost at its end.

Will was at the far end of the loft, discussing a book of his photography with a publisher that had unexpectedly made a proposal. She wouldn’t be seeing her husband for at least an hour. Just as she was deciding where to take her amiable smile someone tapped her on the shoulder from behind.

“Reg!”

Alex gave the man a generous hug. The instant their bodies touched, a surge of submissive passion rendered her almost weak—as if she was expecting him to order her to the floor to take some man’s prick in her mouth. As long as she’d known him, the feeling had never changed. From the time she first stepped foot in his house as a nervous innocent on her way to being trained as a sexual submissive, to later in their acquaintance when she could call him a true confidant, that aspect of their relationship endured. Her previous submission to him, however, was often forgotten, since Reggie was also the husband of her favorite female lover; and he’d always been her husband’s best friend.

Parting from his embrace Alex noticed the woman at his side.

“This is Linda Holly,” he introduced a brunette with short, wispy hair, flawless white skin and full lips painted Chinese red. Alex despised her instantly and gave the woman a perfunctory nod. A little knife stabbed in her heart knowing that it should be Jocelyn beside him.

“And do you work with Reg?” Alex asked.

“I met at him the Steiglitz Museum opening a few weeks ago,” she said.

“I see,” Alex answered. The woman was not Reggie’s type being much too arty and dour. Those white white cheeks without a hint of blush, she looked ghostly—in an earthy sort of way. She was dressed in black, not the typical vision of beauty that would attract Reggie Harold’s eye.

“You know he’s married,” Alex stated flatly, the fact blurted out without thinking at all.

“Yes, I do,” she answered looking bewildered by the uncomfortable turn of the conversation. Alex was as glacial as an Arctic breeze.

“So, you’ll look around,” she said, speaking to them both as she pasted a surgery smile on her lips.

“Of course, and we’ll talk later,” Reggie informed her.

“We will?” Alex asked.

“Yes, we will, Alexandra,” he replied. He didn’t explain himself, though the use of her full name was some indication of his frame of mind. He never called her Alexandra unless he was thinking of her as a sexual submissive.

A few hours later, Alex took a breather from the chattering crowd and made her way downstairs to the relative quiet of Dunning’s private apartment. The night was almost at a close, just a few hangers-on remaining, and she saw no use in staying until the last guest was out the door.

Unfortunately her moment of privacy was interrupted.

“So what’s the bee in your bonnet?” Reggie addressed her in cool tones. Following her down the gallery stairs, he’d cornered her in a private hallway far removed from the guests. He fixed her with a sharp-eyed glare that matched the ones she’d sent his way all evening long. “You’re a little drunk, aren’t you?” he added.

“Oh, you’re not going to blame my mood on alcohol,” Alex said, turning to speak to him face to face.

“Then perhaps you could apologize to Linda. Your resentment of her is misplaced. I don’t think that Will would appreciate your putting off an art critic of her caliber.”

“Critic?” She was slightly worried by the information.

“Yes, she was someone Will wanted to be sure was here.”

“Oh, I see.”

“You have a problem seeing me with another woman?”

“Of course I have a problem. You’re married to Jocelyn.”

“She’ll be my ex-wife very soon,” he said. “As soon as my attorney can catch up with her.”

“No! That’s not going to happen!” Her voice rose so shrill in the hallway that Reggie pushed her into an open room and closed the door behind them.

“If I have to bare your ass and put a little civility into your behavior, I will,” he warned.

“You’re stupid and insensitive to let her go,” Alex blurted out her feelings.

“Maybe Jocelyn should have thought of being more sensitive when she decided to screw a man behind my back. That’s classic adultery in any man’s book. As far as letting her go, she left me.”

“Not because she wanted to.”

“And how would you know that?”

“I know because sometimes you behave like a boor, Reggie Harold,” she hissed. “You drove her away if anything.”

“Alex,” he looked her uncharacteristically bewildered. “How could you possibly blame my wife’s crazy state of mind on me?”

“Oh,” Alex backed off calmly, a twisted smile suddenly appearing on her face. “Did I strike a chord. You’re angry.”

“Of course I’m angry.”

“Because you love her and want her back. Go get her.” It seemed so simple a solution to her.

“You are an exasperating woman,” he said shaking his head and turning away. He stood for a moment with his back to her then turned around. “I have the divorce papers started, Alex. Don’t belabor this with me. This is what she wants.”

“She doesn’t know what she wants. She’s had her whole life ripped apart.”

“And she has the power to put it back together if she chooses.” He sighed. “Besides, I’ve given you much more information than you deserve. I’ve said enough about her, but you on the other hand…”

“Me what?”

“I hadn’t thought I’d have a chance to take care of this tonight, but since we’re here.”

“Take care of what?” she asked.

“A matter of your fidelity.”

“What matter is that?” So like Reggie to make her defensive in an instant.

“How quickly you forget.”

She searched her mind for lapses in memory coming up blank, which was a dangerous situation to be in with Reggie Harold.

“A month ago, the painter, Kyle Stewart.”

“How…” she stopped. “How would you know?”

“He did work for me a week later. Very talkative fellow.”

“That was just after…” She was thinking back to the wild fight she’d had with Will that day. Once her raging husband had stormed the house and walked out leaving waves of ice in his wake, she’d been peeled off the walls by a young man who couldn’t have been much older than eighteen. He’d been painting the back bedroom and she’d almost forgotten he was there. He approached her as gingerly as a shy cat, asking her if she wanted all the walls changed to peach or just one.

He’d heard the entire brawl, every desperate thing she’d spit in Will’s face, and every pointed accusation he’d made in return. She didn’t remember what the fight was about three days later when Will returned, let alone now; but she did recall what happened with the painter.

“Just the one,” she’d said, replying to the young man’s question.

He should have returned to his work at that point, but he walked closer still, seeing tears forming in her eyes while she tried holding them back.

“You want to have sex?” he’d asked with such unabashed sincerity that the idea didn’t even startle her.

She remembered staring at him for the longest time. Kyle was willing to wait forever for an answer, so it seemed, considering how long they stood in the middle of her living room staring into each other’s eyes.

“Yes,” she’d whispered, her fingers flying to the buttons on her shirt, his hand pushing down his painting trousers to show his dark hairy legs and a penis bouncing half mast. She dropped to her knees knowing how much she wanted her mouth around the swelling organ. Fucking it hard with lips and hand, his groans of response warmed what had gone cold inside her. The two dropped to the couch once the erection was stiff and he rendered her helpless with his prick inside her cunt. The unseasoned, fresh pup of a man pounded her with vigor if not finesse. He had muscles to run her hands along, shoulders with sinews of a dimestore novel variety and a mouth that drove against hers, his tongue trying to go as deep as his cock. Her lips would be as sore as her cunt afterwards. When he raised her legs up over her head, the force of his erection made her gasp with pain. She liked that pain since it made her forget she was using this man to dispel the nasty attack of bitch that had come over her in the fight with Will. The fuck seemed so pure, a baptism by wildfire lust. So pure, Alex forgot about that spontaneous combustion after it was over, having been washed clean of woe. Every trace of anger had been cleansed from her soul.

“Kyle told you he fucked me?” Alex asked Reggie, in shock, wondering how something so virtuous could return to haunt her.

“He did,” Reggie replied.

Yes, it made sense. He was a dumb, innocent boy who liked to share his sexual conquests with other men. He worked for Will, of course he’d hire on with his best friend. How stupid! How utterly stupid to have such a lapse in judgment!

“You’re going to tell Will?” she asked.

“No, that won’t be necessary. You will,” Reggie replied.

“Yes, of course I will, I always do,” she murmured to herself more than to the man that faced her. “So why bring it up now?”

“Honesty precludes disaster and damages too great to overcome.”

“You’re sounding like a textbook.”

“I’m only warning you,” he said.

“Are you suggesting that my relationship with Will is in trouble?”

“I think when you screw another man in a pointless lark, it hints at something more going on in you. You’d be wise to take care of it.”

The door leading to the hall was not closed all the way. Hearing it squeaking on its hinges, the two turned to see Will standing just outside in the corridor.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “Alex should be upstairs.”

“I needed breather,” she said. “Certainly, the showing’s over by now.”

Will noted the serious tone between the two, not something he hadn’t seen before. “I don’t like what I’m seeing here. You want to tell me what gives?” He looked directly at Alex.