Fem Dom (22 page)

“You did great, hun,” Mistress Krystal grinned, giving Tara a compliment she wasn’t expecting and didn’t appreciate.

“All that blood! Ugh! I think I kicked out one of his damn teeth! Disgusting.”

“You sure did,” Mistress Krystal said, handing her Sissy Boy’s missing molar.

“I don’t want it!” Tara squealed, pulling a sour face.

Mistress Krystal opened the fridge and took out a bottle of Moet & Chandon.

“Look in that cupboard. There’s a couple of Champagne flutes in there.”

Tara breathed a huge sigh and took out two elegant slim glasses as Mistress Krystal popped the cork off the bottle of bubbly.

“We should celebrate your first solo performance! What an outstanding debut! You were terrific. That was some hot foreplay in there.”

“Foreplay?” Tara was bemused. “I kicked the sick fuck’s tooth out.”

“Ha! He’s got plenty of teeth. He won’t miss one. That’s the quickest I’ve ever got him finished. Wanna grab some dinner?”

“Sissy Boy is still in the playroom,” Tara reminded her.

“Pah, he’ll be gone in a few. There’s a cool Sushi place up on Grandview.”

Mistress Krystal raised her glass and took a sip of her chilled Champagne. Tara downed her glass in one gulp. She couldn’t think of any reason why she shouldn’t accept the offer to go out and eat.

“Sure, why not?”

Sushi Tango was slammed with diners but both Mistresses Krystal and Angel were well anchored at the sushi bar and back in their regular attire. The failure of Clem to appear at six o’clock was a huge weight off her shoulders but she was still reeling from the experience with Sissy Boy. Tara chased down her glass of Moet with a cup of warm sake.

“So how can you ever be sure one of your clients isn’t a raving nut job with a criminal record or something?” Tara asked, as she dipped her yellowtail nigiri into a small bowl of soy sauce.

“You learn pretty quick how to spot the wackos,” Mistress Krystal said, looking more like a normal human being without all her dramatic make-up and wild hairstyle. “And I video every session in case I need police evidence,” she added.

“Seriously?”

“I’ve got two little cameras way up high in the corner. Plus, my heaviest weaponry is close at hand and it’s got live ammo in it.”

“Everything is recorded on video?”

“Insurance.”

“And you got a loaded gun?”

“Magnum. Same as Dirty Harry.”

“Wow. I didn’t realize you were so buttoned up in the security department!”

Tara was impressed and intrigued. That meant that there would be video evidence that Clem was one of her clients. Mistress Krystal looked around for a sake server as she gulped down her third cup. The more she drank, the looser Mistress Krystal’s behavior became. Tara saw this as her opportunity to glean more information about this woman and some of her other clients though the combination of Champagne and sake wasn’t sitting too well with Tara.

“So what’s your real name?” Tara asked.

“What’s yours?” Mistress Krystal shot back. Tara didn’t like that reply so she changed the subject.

“You must have a lot of videos then?”

“Tell me about it.”

“Y’know, you could record directly onto your computer, or get an external hard drive,” Tara suggested.

“Nah, I’m old school,” replied Mistress Krystal, who still hadn’t touched her food.

“So Sissy Boy’s in the ad biz, huh?” Tara asked nonchalantly, probing for more information.

“Yep. I need another drink. Where’s our waitress?”

“Any other advertising executives on your roster of illustrious clients?” Tara asked pointedly.

“Not that I know of. I’ve got eleven regulars -- a judge, an ad guy – that’s Sissy Boy -- doctor, a lawyer, some CEO, and the others I have no clue what they do nor do I care.”

“Don’t forget Mr. Winkle.”

“Oh yeah, and Winkle.”

“So you must have some type of normal conversation with these characters sometimes.”

“Sometimes.”

“But you honestly don’t know any of their real names?” Tara pressed, still wanting to know for sure if Clem was on her roster. Mistress Krystal looked Tara in the eye.

“Look, hun. I told you. I don’t need to know their real names. And I don’t particularly care to. Less I know the better. I suppose all this will be in the book you’re writing, huh?”

“What book?”

“Or article, or thesis, or report,” Mistress Krystal jabbed.

“No. I’m no writer,” Tara laughed.

Mistress Krystal scanned the restaurant. “These damn waitresses are serving everyone in here except us. Hey! Can we get another round of sakes over here?”

One of the pretty young Oriental girls finally appeared with a fresh warm pot. Tara realized that Mistress Krystal wasn’t going to reveal any details about any of her clients however much booze she knocked back. She probably knew all the real names of all of them but there was no way she was going to spill the beans. Tara was dealing with one shrewd cookie muncher even though she was now fairly inebriated. Maybe Clem was this woman’s best client and she’d twigged that he was married to Tara. After all, she couldn’t have been the first suspicious or jealous wife she’d had to deal with. Tara was being out-maneuvered with sublime brilliance by a mistress who was a master -- of the human psyche. This would be a battle of wits she couldn’t win.

But what if she could get to see those videotapes?

“I need a vacation,” Mistress Krystal announced with a hint of a slur. “Been waaaay too long.”

“You’re your own boss. I’m sure your clients could survive a week or two without you.”

“No, I’m talking about a real vacation. Like three months on a beach somewhere.”

Tara dabbed her yellowtail nigiri in the green wasabi and put the whole piece in her mouth. “Mmmmm…yeah, I see your point,” she mumbled as she looked hungrily at the ten pieces of nigiri tuna still on Mistress Krystal’s plate.

“You could do this job,” Mistress Krystal slurred.

“No, I couldn’t.” Tara’s focus was still on the uneaten raw slices of fish.

“Why don’t you run the show while I take a break?” Mistress Krystal smiled.

“I hope you’re not being serious.”

“Three months. The time will fly, believe me.”

“No way. I don’t want Sissy Boy jerking off on me and Mr. Winkle urinating all over the place and God knows what your other clients get off doing.”

“Look, Angelina. You’re younger than me, prettier than me and in better shape than me. I’m forty-nine years old and I need a damn vacation.”

“You said you were forty-seven,” Tara reminded her.

“Forty-seven, fifty-two, ninety-one, who cares? Close enough. Look, Sissy Boy nearly creamed his pants the second he saw you. All my clients will just fawn all over you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Tara added.

“Then why the did you go and buy all the gear? That was a wad of cash, hun. I know you’re getting off on this shit.”

“I don’t have the stomach for it. But I’ll admit it’s interesting, in a very creepy, depraved way.”

“Interesting? Interesting? That has to be the understatement of the century. Working in a laboratory is
interesting
.”

“I meant learning how the mind of the male species works. That’s a real education.”

“They’re wired totally differently to us, that’s for sure. It’s all visual to them. You know, hun, there are plenty of women out there in this line of work. And once you get a few regulars, you want to keep them.”

Mistress Krystal wasn’t giving up. She seemed determined to throw Tara in the deep end even though she could still barely swim. No, this was not why Tara was doing this but she couldn’t tell Mistress Krystal the truth. Not at this late stage in the game.

“It’s sure as shit more interesting than what you’re doing right now,” Mistress Krystal muttered as she finally started to tuck into her food. She was right about that, too.

“Don’t you ever worry about running into one of your clients?” Tara asked, wanting to change tact.

“No. Why should I? They’re a lot more worried about running into me.”

“So you don’t date and you’re not married?” Tara was prying now.

“I never said that,” Mistress Krystal shot back.

“I just assumed -- I mean your apartment on Calloway is quite small to work and live”

Mistress Krystal gave Tara a quizzical look. “What apartment on Calloway?”

Tara laughed. “The one we were just at!”

Mistress Krystal laughed out loud. “Hun, what are you smoking? My place is on Robertson.”

Now Tara was the one with the confused expression. She then realized she’d only ever entered the apartment from the rear of the building.

“Robertson?”

“Maybe you’re just a ditz.”

Mistress Krystal leaned over to bite into another piece of sushi while Tara paused and thought hard. She’d never actually seen what the front of the apartment building looked like. In fact, Tara had never even been on that street as she’d always entered via the back way under the iron stairwell. She’d simply assumed that it was 1611 Callaway, as Jack Kelsey had told her when he showed his videotape of Clem arriving and leaving. Now she was really confused about everything. If Mistress Krystal didn’t live at 1611 Callaway, who did?

“How long have you lived there on Robertson Street then?” Tara asked.

“I’ve never lived there, I just work there,” Mistress Krystal replied, shoving in another mouthful of tuna and washing it down with more sake. “I don’t want anyone knowing where I live.”

Now Tara’s mind was racing. If Mistress Krystal worked on Robertson Street, who in the world was Clem secretly visiting on Callaway? Maybe it was Justine after all. Or maybe it was some other mystery woman. Her ingenious plan to trap her husband in the act was an abject failure. She’d gotten it all wrong. She’d been at the wrong location all along. Now she would have to re-think everything.

“I think we’re done,” Tara announced emphatically. Mistress Krystal still had three succulent pieces of sushi on her wooden tray waiting to be devoured and wasn’t ready to leave.

“I’m not done, Angelina. I also want another drink,” Mistress Krystal slurred. Tara counted out forty dollars and slapped it down on the sushi bar.

“I gotta go.” Tara stood up, threw down her napkin and made her way through the crowded sushi bar towards the exit. Mistress Krystal shrugged and carried on eating as she ignored Tara walking out. She was more interested in catching the eye of the waitress.

“Hey, another drink over here!”

As Tara drove home, she felt very conflicted. Her sessions with Mistress Krystal had made her feel good about herself in a way she had never experienced before and certainly hadn’t expected. She liked the feeling of being in control. But now this was all moot. If Clem wasn’t seeing Mistress Krystal there was no need for her to see her anymore.
But why was that card in his jacket?

Maybe Mistress Krystal did live on Calloway Avenue after all and was simply lying to Tara. The only to find out who did live there was to go ring the bell at number 1611 and find out. And she might as well do it right now.

Tara took the next exit off the interstate and pulled over to the side of the road. She was still a little dizzy from all the alcohol she’d consumed but this was a sobering moment. She quickly punched the Calloway address into her GPS and made a U-turn. It was getting late but there was still some blue in the dusky evening sky. As she headed back to south Minneapolis, Tara ran various scenarios through her head but nothing seemed to make much sense.

Damn, it was all going pear-shaped.

CHAPTER 15

Ocean Breeze was an upscale restaurant in St. Paul, a ten-minute drive from downtown Minneapolis and nowhere near any ocean. Over at the bar, Clem was drinking with Daniel Ellerby, the recruiter from Los Angeles. Ellerby was a mover and a shaker with offices in Beverly Hills and on Madison Avenue and he’d placed Clem at Bergensons four years earlier. He dressed like an ad executive but had only enjoyed a brief career employed in agencies. The environment had proved too stifling for him and he was lousy at kissing up to clients. Ellerby had a classy persona but he was a wheeler-dealer better suited to operating behind the scenes. He only made money when he shuffled people around. Clem raised his Martini glass to Ellerby’s.

“Bottoms up.”

“Been a few years, Clem.”

“Kinda surprised you called to be honest.”

“Well, I couldn’t get a direct flight to New York so I thought I’d stop over in Minneapolis and see how things were going. I see your name’s been in all the trades recently.”

That made Clem smirk.

“Yeah, well -- Guess I’m hot. Gonna try and lure me away?” Clem chuckled sardonically.

“You know, that really was a great deal I put together for you at Bergensons. These guys wanted you so bad they really would’ve paid anything.”

“That was four years ago,” Clem reminded Ellerby. “Ancient history. Different economic climate now, huh?”

“Yup. Pretty dead out there.” Ellerby’s words had a somber tone to them. Not what Clem wanted to hear but he’d guessed as much. If anybody knew the beat of the street it was his old headhunter.

“You’re still alive and kicking though,” Clem smirked.

“Living off scraps. Look, you don’t need me to tell you -- retail has taken it up the ass.”

Ellerby looked a class act but subtlety wasn’t his strong suit. Clem was in no hurry to divulge any tales of his corporate infighting with Kurt Fitzgerald but Ellerby knew a lot of people in a lot of agencies and he could well have gotten wind of the recent monkey business at Bergenson & Adler. He’d placed account executives in the best ad shops in all the major cities over the years: Dallas, Chicago, San Francisco, Los Angeles, New York and Atlanta were his towns; his playing fields. Each of those cities had three or four big name agencies where he placed and cherry-picked the best talent. Ellerby knew the hottest gossip at every big agency in every big town whether it was true or not. That was how he made his money.

“Y’know, this could be one of those synergistic things,” Clem smiled.

“Yeah? How so?”