The Punany Experience (18 page)

“Well, I don’t know,” Sally said hesitantly into the phone. “It seems Martha, the woman who had your job before you, has filed a wrongful termination suit against Ms. Smith, and the lawyer contacted me just yesterday about turning over Martha’s employment history records.”

“Oh,” Melody said, “I see. Allow me a half-hour to get back to you.”

Melody hung up the phone and Googled: “Grounds for wrongful termination.” She read up on the topic before requesting permission to enter Korea’s office.

She could feel an unfamiliar pining in her veins and a pounding in her heart as she stood before Korea in the simple black suit they had shopped for together at the Hilltop Mall. Korea had paid for it and the Kenneth Cole shoes on her feet. Melody was sure there was more to come, if she could just make herself very important to Korea’s program.

“Well?” Korea asked. “Cat’s got your tongue?”

Not yet
, Melody thought,
but I’m working on letting your kitty snatch my tongue clean out of my head
. The thought of herself licking between
Korea’s chocolate thighs nearly knocked her off of her heels. She composed herself and explained the situation that Sally had described.

“Wrongful termination! What the fuck? That old bag was all in my business. Is this for real? Is this something she can win? Call my lawyer for me, Melody. Find out if this is something she can win.”

“I don’t think there will be any need to, Ms. Smith. I’ve done a little research and found that California is an ‘at-will’ employment state.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that you have the right to fire anyone you want, for any reason you desire.”

“Good,” Korea said, satisfied. “Then call my lawyer anyway and tell him that we know this, and we need him to prepare a response now, for whatever Martha plans on throwing at me. His number is in the Rolodex.”

“Okay,” Melody said. “Will that be all?”

“Yes, that will be all.”

Melody wasn’t sure what she was hoping for, but “that will be all” could not have been it.

T
HERE COMES A TIME IN EVERY SEXUAL LIFE, WHEN ORGASM IS NOT ENOUGH
. In the beginning, Stormy’s relationship with Korea was great and was guided by their mutual desire for, and commitment to, pure sexual satisfaction. Stormy knew nothing of giving head to women, and Korea was committed to keeping her ignorant. So Stormy settled comfortably in the downy soft palace of The Pillow Princess, finding comfort in the luxury of doing little more than cumming on the command of Korea’s fingertips, tongue, lips, thighs, and fist.

For a while it was enough. But after a few years, she decided that if she was going to sacrifice her reputation by publicly claiming to be a lesbian, she was certainly not going to sacrifice her sexuality. Giving up this lover was not an option, so Stormy committed herself to keeping the bed heated with fantasies. But after their trip to Club X, Stormy feared she had awakened a brutal instinct in Korea that would never sleep again. They hadn’t had sex without pulling, spitting, slapping, and name-calling in so long, Stormy regretted introducing her to the whole scene. Still, she blushed when she remembered the look on Korea’s face when she got into that limousine and saw her in there all tied up in white cotton rope.

“Can you get yourself out of those knots?” Korea had asked her.

“No. Even if I could, I couldn’t take them off unless you told me to. Tonight, you will be my master and I will be your slave.”

“Oh? So that means you will do everything I ask you to?”

“Yes, master.”

This is going to be fun
, Korea thought as she tested the waters with a few commands to see if Stormy was going to truly be down. The driver took off and headed for San Francisco.

It was a smooth ride, full of giggles and games. Korea had removed all but the ropes on Stormy’s hands by the time the limo came to a stop at the mouth of a dirty San Francisco alley. Korea walked the damp pathway decorated with garbage cans and sleeping bums, tugging on a leash that pulled Stormy along behind her. In front of them there were two huge red doors marked with a big X.

Could it be that what had gone down between the red walls of Club X had changed them both forever?
Stormy thought, as she pulled the filet mignon from the broiler.

Stormy spread a smile across her face when the elevator arrived at the penthouse. She had decided to take Korea’s advice and give her some tender love and care. She spent the afternoon cleaning
the house and washing clothes. The penthouse smelled great and looked spotless when Korea stepped off the elevator into it.

“What’s all this about going to L.A.?” Korea said as she hung her coat.

“Hi, honey!” Stormy called from the kitchen in a happy, bubbly voice.

“I repeat, what’s all this business about going to L.A.?” Korea shouted over Michael Jackson on the stereo as she walked down the hallway to the kitchen.

“I want you to know that you don’t have to worry about that anymore. I listened to you this morning and you’re right. I should be about taking care of you. If I was taking care of you more, you would be fucking me more. Now, why don’t you wash up for dinner? I just pulled your steak out of the oven.”

“Can we talk about this some more over dinner?” Korea asked, suspicious of the woman’s bubbly disposition.

“If you would like to, honey bunny, but really, there’s no need. I understand that you’re only trying to protect me. Besides, I thought you might want to eat alone in the den. The game’s coming on. Your newspaper is in there waiting for you, too.”

“Okay, what are you going to do right now?

“Me? I’m going to take a shower. I’ve been running around this house all day, cleaning and preparing for your arrival. I didn’t make time to shower and I’m funky.”

“Really, let me smell you. I like it when you’re funky.” Korea grabbed Stormy playfully, trying to smell her armpit.

“No, baby, I stink. Go to the den; I’m going to bring your plate to you.”

“Okay, but don’t get any of your funky armpit juice in my food,” Korea joked.

Stormy plated Korea’s meal and took it to her with a cold Miller
Genuine Draft beer. Korea was already screaming at the referee.

Good
, Stormy thought.
She’ll be in there for hours.

Stormy rushed to the shower, washed, and quickly dressed for bed. She ran into her room, and logged into her computer.

T
HE
C
UT
B:
Change of plans…I’ll arrange my travel. Just drop the expense funds into my PayPal account
, she typed, then logged off, went to the kitchen, loaded the dishes into the dishwasher, and poured herself a glass of merlot. She expected to be asleep or carefree by the time Korea came in, either wanting rough sex or none at all.

When the game was over, Korea took her plate to the kitchen, rinsed it, and put it in the dishwasher. She had just dropped her beer bottle into the recycling bin when her cell phone rang. The name on the screen was “Melody Toggle.” Korea didn’t answer.

“Damn,” she said out loud. “When will I learn? That bitch is out of pocket.”

Korea could see that Stormy wasn’t asleep yet when she walked through the room to the master bathroom, so she took an extra long time preparing for bed. Stormy wouldn’t be down for continuing what Melody had aroused in her that morning. That sweet, missionary lovemaking shit didn’t turn Korea on anymore. But Stormy was a good woman. Stormy was the best woman she had ever had.

Shawna couldn’t help but to snicker when she looked at Hartford sitting in the passenger’s seat of the SUV. The image of him getting fucked in the ass by a dirty white guy in the woods was still flashing in her head.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, but the question went unanswered.

“Why does Daddy have to leave, again?” Raven asked her mother, as if Hartford wasn’t even in the car.

“Because, baby, Daddy has to fly to Los Angeles to work, so that you can keep all of your nice things.” Shawna pulled up to the curb at the Oakland Airport. “Girls, say goodbye to your father.”

“Bye, Daddy,” Alex said, reaching over the seat to hug her father’s neck.

Alex had always been a charming and delightful girl. Hartford’s first wife, Magenta, Alex’s mother, had died nearly ten years ago. Through her long illness and hospitalization, Alex had been the rock that kept Hartford grounded. As Hartford held his daughter’s arm, he realized it was hardly the arm of that small child who had sung “The Lord’s Prayer” and prayed the 23rd Psalms over her mother’s grave. No, she wasn’t a little girl anymore.
Not at all
, he thought, as he squeezed her forearm to his neck and smelled his dead wife.

Momentarily startled, Hartford turned around and really looked at her for the first time in a very long time. Underneath immaturely applied makeup, there was a sad fifteen-year-old girl wearing a
dead woman’s perfume. But she smiled for him anyway. She always had a smile for her father.

“Anaïs,” Alex said.

“Release me,” her father answered.

It was a cherished and private moment for the pair, one that pre-dated everyone else in the car. It was their private ode to an endearing memory of Magenta floating around their brand-new house in one of her flowered dresses, leaving the scent of Anaïs in every room.

Hartford had given it to her when they had celebrated his first big break. Alex was still in diapers then. He took his first big check of $500,000 and put a down payment on their dream house on Monday morning. By Friday, they were on a weekend flight to Washington, D.C., aboard a private plane on loan from Jerome Bandarofski. Friday night, they had dined on one another. Saturday, it was French cuisine,
Henry and June
on a big screen, followed by another long sweaty celebratory romp at a quaint little bed and breakfast in Adams Morgan. On Sunday morning, they had renewed their vows at Haines Point, near the statue of The Awakening. They had been struggling together since high school, living hand-to-mouth on two part-time jobs and a musical dream.

Anaïs Nin had been Magenta’s favorite author. Magenta was the most supportive and most sensual woman Hartford had ever known. She gave all of herself to him; body, soul and imagination. During their brief life together, Hartford wanted for nothing outside of his family. He swore himself to her. He never once betrayed her. Not once. But, now here he was, leaving Shawna and his children to do just that, he hoped. His unhappiness was becoming more apparent in his house every day. And his last song, “You Only Love Once” said it all for him. It had earned ten times that first check. He owned his own foreign film theater and
a chain of bed and breakfast inns that spread from Sonoma County to Santa Clara.

Shawna didn’t care if Hartford was making the trip to have an orgy at Prince’s mansion with Madonna and the Pope; she was still going to stay. As long as his mess didn’t wind up at her house, she told herself, she could live with it. Besides, whenever she was really lonely, she had Peter, a little piece of her own that kept her quite satisfied with gifted hands that gave the most orgasmic yoni massages. Peter was only nineteen years old and still trying to pay back his student loans, so he worked very hard for the scraps she gave him from Hartford’s table.

Shawna broke their tender father-daughter moment with the clearing of her throat. “You know, they’re like vultures at this airport. I still have a ticket from the last trick you pulled on me in this very same spot.” Checking her watch, she added, “Around this very same time.” She flashed a knowing grin, noting the sloppiness of his pattern. Then, gesturing at Raven with a head nod, Shawna said, “Someone’s got daggers for you.”

“I’m just working,” he said.

“Yeah, working me.”

“You really ought to work on your insecurities, Shawna; they can be lethal. I keep telling you to start a business; get some hobbies. Maybe you wouldn’t be so unhappy.”

Hartford kissed his wife’s hand, and stepped from the car onto the airport curb at passenger departures. He got his bag from the back of the SUV, then walked around the SUV to Raven’s passenger window and knocked.

She hesitated at first, and then rolled it down. “Were you going to let your daddy leave without saying goodbye?”

“No,” the little girl lied, squinting in the sun flooding past the dark tinted window into her eyes.

“Do you remember what I told you?” he asked.

Raven pretended to think about it before she answered solemnly, giving into the failure of her defiance. Hartford’s youngest child, Raven, who would be eight years old on her next birthday, stood five feet tall, had budding breasts, and was spreading into teenaged hips. Her last visit to the doctor put her at a hundred twenty-five pounds. Hartford had grown up in a house full of women. His sisters, Dream Crow and Blue, had both become women very early.
And living with three bleeding bitches is nothing to take lightly
, he reminded himself. He would have to remember to tell Shawna to have the
girl talk
with her real soon. In comparison, Alex was petite, like her mother had been. She had gotten her period just last year.

“Always make your first words and last words your best words. Those are the ones people remember most,” Raven quoted her father.

“Good girl.” He kissed her on her soft red hair. “Now, this morning, I think your first words to me were…Oh, that’s right. You didn’t speak to me this morning, my bad. So that would make the first thing you said to me today, the word ‘No.’”

“Hey, that’s not fair, I…”

“I’m just making my point, sweetie. You know Daddy loves you. Be good to your sister, you hear? I’ll be back soon.” Hartford had noticed the tension growing between them, but he had no idea what it was like for Alex when he was away.

Raven seemed to perk up. “Have a safe trip, Daddy,” she said cheerfully.

“That’s so much better, baby,” he said, stepping away from the window. “Those are my girls!” Hartford said to the car as he walked away, waving with the back of his hand and disappearing behind automatic doors.