Party Lines (5 page)

“How
could you?” she screamed at herself. “How could you?” Turning she fixed her
eyes on the bedside table and with one swipe of her arm sent everything on it –lamps,
books, clock – flying against the wall.

Lindsay
threw herself on the bed and began to sob, not from the hurt of the spanking or
anger at Ron Sharp but from confusion. For while the spanking had shocked an
angered her, she’d not felt the kind of indignation she’d expected. If anything
she’d felt disappointment that the first spanking – the spanking she’d
always known she’d really wanted – had been delivered without just cause.

Ron
Sharp had been right when he’d said she shouldn’t have injected his personal
life into the campaign, but he’d done it first. Why? She felt conflicted,
confused, because if it had just been her then he would have had every right to
spank her. And it was with a great deal of shame that Lindsay now faced
completely the horrifying truth: he’d given her exactly what she’d always
wanted, only under imperfect circumstances.

And
even worse: he knew. She could hear it in his voice as he followed her out of
the building. That was why she’d not turned back. If she had, Ron Sharp would
have known in an instant that she felt nothing unnatural in his assault on her
backside.

But
then again, maybe he already knew. She’d not run straight to the
police
as any Worth Feminist would do. If she were truly
indignant the police would be cuffing him at this moment and taking him to the
station, where she’d be waiting to bear angry witness to his humiliating
ordeal. A revelation like that would ruin everything for him and become the kind
of scandal that would destroy not only his career, but bring Bradford Hopkins
along for the ride. With news of the assault on the front page of every major
newspaper – and probably the Drudge Report to boot – Clara
Faircloth would be a virtual shoo-in.

Lindsay
rolled over, painfully aware of the still throbbing bum and threw her arm
across her face. Never, ever before had she felt so miserable, so conflicted.
She had a loyalty to Clara. But she had a larger loyalty to herself and
wondered whether her deep down need had telegraphed some vulnerability to Ron
Sharp. Why else would he take a chance on doing something so ridiculously
reckless?

From
the other room she could hear her phone ringing and the sound of her own voice
as the message kicked in. “You’ve reached the home of Lindsay Martin. I can’t
come to the phone right now, but if you leave a message I’ll call you back.
Thanks, and have a nice day!”

She
heard the shrill beep and was just wiping away more tears when she sat bolt
upright at the sound of a man’s voice. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t.

“Lindsay.
It’s Ron Sharp. Listen. I need to talk to you.”

Lindsay
looked over to the phone on the opposite table – the one she’d not
cleared in a rage – and started at it as if it were a snake, as if Ron
Sharp were going to emerge from it.

“Listen.
I know you’re there. I got a taxi right after you left and…well, I found out
where you live and I want to come see you.”

Lindsay’s
eyes widened and with a trembling hand she picked up the phone.

“You
can’t be serious,” she said, suddenly aware of how hoarse her voice sounded.
Holding the phone away she cleared her throat and took a sip of water from a
cup on the nightstand.

“I
am serious,” Ron said.
Then a pause.
“I’m always
serious.”

“If
you’re worried that I’m going to call the police on you don’t,” she replied. “I
should but I’m not.”

“I’m
not worried about that. I didn’t think you would.”

Lindsay
shook her head. “What makes you so sure?”

“I
don’t know.” Ron grew quiet for a moment. “I just somehow don’t think you’re
that type of person.”

“You
don’t know anything about me,” Lindsay said, her voice edged with sadness.
Suddenly she felt very alone and very lonely. She could have been talking to
anyone – her friends, her parents, Clara Faircloth, anyone. Did anyone
really know her, know the deep secret she’d been harboring for as long as she
could remember?

“I
think I do.” His voice was patient and somehow comforting. Outside thunder
crashed and Lindsay pulled her knees up to her chest, fresh tears falling from
her eyes.

She
wiped them away. “Yeah?” she asked, laughing through them.

“I
think so.” He paused again. “Can I come up?”

“Come
up?”

Lindsay
stood, feeling her heart beginning to race. No, he couldn’t possibly…
.She
walked through the apartment to the front and looked
out from between the curtains, her eyes widening at what she saw. Ron Sharp was
standing out on the sidewalk in front of her apartment, looking up at her from
beneath his tilted umbrella. A cell phone was to his ear.

“My
address is unlisted,” she said.

“Yeah?
Well, given the price of gas, cabbies are pretty easy to bribe these days.”

Lindsay
put a finger to her temple. Her mind was racing. Should she let him in? She
didn’t really know. The practical side of her said it was lunacy to do it. He
was her enemy, her nemesis,
her
rival. Less than an
hour ago he’d upended her over his knee during an argument and spanked her to
tears. And now he wanted to come up and see her, and this on the heels of a
claim of some Higher Understanding?

She
put the tip of her finger in her mouth and chewed on her nail for a moment. She
was a mess. Her makeup was still streaked from where she’d been crying. Her wet
things were still by the door – no doubt sitting in a puddle at this
point. She was in no condition to receive company, especially Ron Sharp’s.

Lindsay
peeked out through the blinds again. He was still standing there. He was till
looking in the direction of her window.

She
took a deep breath. “OK” she said. “Come on up.”

Chapter
Four

Her
hand was shaking as she opened the door and for a moment they both stood there,
looking at one another. Ron was breathing heavily, his face a mask of regret.
Lindsay did not need to look in the hallway mirror to know that she looked
small and confused.

She
stepped aside and waved towards the interior of the apartment. “Come in.”

Ron
stepped inside and put his dripping umbrella beside hers.

“You
can put your coat here,” she said, indicating the rack where she was now
hanging her own wet things to dry. Ron took his coat off and hung it up and
when he saw her reaching for his sodden umbrella moved to take it from her.

“No,
I’ll
..
” he began.

“It’s
fine,” she said, moving it out of reach without looking at him. He didn’t
argue.

There
was another moment of silence as she absentmindedly smoothed the coats.

“I
suppose we could talk in the living room,” she said. “And I suppose I should
offer you a drink although it doesn’t feel quite like the appropriate thing to
do.”

“You
don’t have to offer me anything,” he said. “And if anyone should be feeling
awkward about doing inappropriate things, it’s me.”

She
nodded and turned, leading him through the hallway and into the living room
where she motioned to the couch before disappearing into the kitchen. Ron sat
down, looking around at the tidy room with its floor to ceiling windows.
Outside, rain was sluicing down them, obscuring what he surmised must be a
rather pleasant view of the upscale shops and cafes across the street.

When
Lindsay came back in she was carrying a tray with a small pot of coffee and two
cups. A towel was draped across her arm, and after she set the tray down she
handed it to him without looking up.

“Here,”
she said. “Your clothes are wet. You’ll get chilled if you don’t dry off a bit.”

Her
kindness made him feel even worse. Murmuring a ‘thank you,’ he took the towel
and began to mop the dampness from his clothes.

Lindsay
poured two cups of coffee and took one from the tray and then sat down in the
couch across from Ron Sharp. She was looking at him now, studying him with an
expression that made him feel more convicted by the moment.

He
reached for a cup of coffee, because he felt he should to acknowledge her hospitality,
but couldn’t bring it to his lips. He had no taste for coffee at the moment.
Besides, the unspoken words left no room in his mouth for anything else.
He put the cup down.

“There’s
no good explanation for what I did to you in the elevator,” he said. “I’m not
the kind of man to…” His voice trailed off when he recognized the beginning of
his own lie. He was that kind of man, and to start the conversation by covering
his own butt with a lie – especially after spanking hers – seemed
less than chivalrous. “You were exactly right,” he finished. “You didn’t do
anything to deserve what I did to you, Lindsay.”

She’d
been looking down at her cup, but now she turned her eyes up to him and when
she did his heart twisted to see they were filled with tears.

“Then
why did you?” she asked. “I worked hard to prepare for that debate with you. We
both went in there
knowing
it might turn
confrontational. I didn’t do anything that you wouldn’t – haven’t –
done.”

He
nodded. “No, you didn’t.”

“I
never asked for this,” she continued. A tear had dropped from her eye now and
was sliding down her cheek. She made no move to wipe it away, nor did she move
to wipe away the one that now spilled from her other eye.

“I
was just a volunteer – a volunteer and a librarian – when Clara
Faircloth came to me and offered me this job. I had to adapt overnight to being
a nobody with a quiet but satisfying life to being a planner, a manager, a…
.warrior
.” She finally wiped the tears as she offered a
short laugh over the irony of it all. “I don’t even like confrontation. I don’t
like fighting with people, but when I do fight I stand up for what I believe
in. I believe in Clara, just as I’m sure you believe in your candidate.”

“And
it shows,” Ron said, edging forward on the couch and looking at her earnestly. “It
shows, Lindsay. You’re very good at what you do and your conviction and passion
come through. It’s given you an edge.” He looked down. “An edge I’m used to
having. I’m not used to playing catch-up, to getting trounced in front of a
political audience. I’m used to dominating…”

“Dominating
everyone or just women?” Lindsay asked the voice quietly, and for some reason
voicing the question made her heart pound. She couldn’t have realized that the
question was just as unnerving to him.

“Yes.
To both,” he said. “I’m a dominant guy. It’s in my nature. And as politically
incorrect as it is I am not used to pushback from women. I’m a conservative and
most conservative women tend to be more traditional. They aren’t interested in
going toe to toe with a man. I mean, there are exceptions, but for the most
part there’s stereotyping between the genders. I can usually tell inside of
five minutes whether a woman is a scrapper or whether she’s soft. I avoid the
ones who are spoiling for a fight.”

Lindsay’s
hand flew to her face and she began to sob.

“Hey,
hey, hey…” Ron reached over gently and took her wrists, wondering what he’d
said to upset her so. “What’s wrong?”

“What
about me told you that it was OK to do that?” she asked. “Did I send you some
kind of signal, Ron? What about me told you that the fight in me wasn’t real,
that it could be punished out of me?” She pulled away, burying her face in the
couch. Ron got up and went over to sit beside her on the couch. He laid a hand
on her shoulder but when he did she tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her
and gently tugged her around to face him.

“Did
I send you some signal, some vibe that said I was asking for it?” She put her
face in her hands again. “Oh, god, I am so ashamed.”

He
sighed. It was just as he expected and he suddenly felt a surge of emotion for
this woman, an intense desire to protect her.

“Don’t
be,” he said. “Don’t be ashamed of who you are. You’re right. I probably wouldn’t
have done that to any woman. But something came over me with you. I won’t lie
to you. I did sense something.”

“Oh,
god.” She began to cry harder.

“No,
no, no,” he said. “I don’t mean that to sound negative, Lindsay. Don’t take it
like that, please. It wasn’t weakness I sensed. It wasn’t masochism. It was…I
just sensed that you were like me.”

She
was so surprised that she stopped crying. “Like you? How?”

“Different,”
he said. “Primal, for lack of a better word. I think there are women out there
who have a tendency to yield to male influence out of societal expectations.
And then there are women who are hard-wired to that.”