1: Madeline's First Spanking

Skye called an hour before we were supposed to meet for brunch and changed plans. “You won’t mind meeting Tala, will you?”

The truth was I did. Everything Skye had told me about Tala made me think she was a terrible person. The first time she told me about her new friend, I literally spit my beer out. “She ordered your dinner for you? Like while you were there, without even asking you?”

“Well, I hadn’t been there before and she did pick things I liked.”

“My God, Skye, that’s so infantilizing. If a date did that, you’d be out of there.”

“Don’t read so much into it. She’s just assured.”

I rolled my eyes. Since I got married, Skye had struggled. We were roommates in college and both moved to Chicago afterwards. I found a job I liked, and not too much later, met Blake. Skye tried a dozen things, but nothing ever stuck--not jobs, not men, not even friends other than me. Since she met Tala, Skye had new clothes, new shoes, new jewelry, and even proper kitchen appliances. If I didn’t know Skye had no interest in women, I’d assumed she had become a kept woman. As it was, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know exactly what Skye’s relationship to Tala was.

When I didn’t answer, Skye begged. “Please? Madeline, she wants to meet my friends. She thinks I’m ashamed of her, since she’s older.”

I said ok and grabbed an Uber to a new restaurant on Fulton, too expensive for Blake and I to try. Brunch, I reasoned, would at least not break my budget.

Skye was already there, looking as resplendently Californian as ever. If ever there was proof that being model-gorgeous didn’t buy you love, it was Skye. In college, I always felt I got the guys after they gave up on Skye, but I could keep them. She shuffled through men, usually with lots of tears, several times a quarter. Life after college hadn’t changed much.

She rose to hug me, but when the woman at the table made a tongue click, she pulled back and offered a hand. We shook like we hadn’t since we first met. The woman offered her hand.

“Tala Alcantara.”

I shook it, still in shock at Skye’s behavior. Tala wasn’t as old as I’d imagined. She was forty-five at most and probably in her mid- or late-thirties. She beautiful in a sharp, heron-like way. Everything about her was immaculate, to the point I wondered if she had some kind of robot cut her hair to the nearest nanometer.

“Please sit.”

I went to sit next to Skye, but Tala pointed to the chair next to her, “No, Madeline, sit here.”

I hadn’t met her but thirty seconds and she was already telling me what to do. For a moment, I thought about ignoring her, but I didn’t want to make a scene. I put on a fake smile and sat.

We settled into a conversation wherein she asked me questions based on what Skye told her. It was conspicuously like meeting somebody’s parent instead of a friend. Yet Tala was gracious and attentive. Her questions showed more interest than Skye or even Blake did in my work.

When she asked me to explain the statistics behind one of my work projects--a subject dear to my heart and dire to my friends--I realized I liked her. I could tell my passions weren’t her own, but she not only drew them out from where I hid them from the disinterested public, but convinced me she she found them fascinating.

She deflected most of the conversation back to me, even when I asked direct questions about her work. I learned almost nothing personal about her, other than she lived on the Gold Coast in a condo with a lake view. But I think Skye told me that.

When our waitress came, she waved the menus away and ordered for all of us. I asked for a Diet Coke.

Tala waved a finger as if scratching my order off the ticket. “She’ll have the Domaine Ott.”

The waitress looked to me for confirmation and I nodded, blushing.

I was sullen until after our drinks arrived. When Tala asked me how I liked it, I was desperate to hate it, but it was, indeed, the best rosé I’d ever had. “It’s not bad.”

Skye winked at me, an I-told-you-so look. I’m sure I frowned.

I stopped trying with the conversation, despite Tala’s attempts to charm me again. When I insisted on personal silence, she directed her focus to Skye.

I can’t remember what she talked about, let alone the specific words. At some point after we’d started to eat, I realized the words we say or even the topics we chose aren’t as important as body language or some ineffable element of conversation. Because whatever she talked about, it didn’t matter. I understood why Skye found her new friend so exciting despite her offensively bossy and rude behavior.

At some point, Tala reached over with a napkin and wiped a bit of sauce from the corner of Skye’s mouth, like a mother with a child. I blushed for her, my rage at Tala’s controlling ways coming back, but Skye said thank you as if she honestly wanted help. I wondered if they were having sex. Our freshman year, I’d been the partying one. My friend Heather and I went to bars three or four times a week and worked to get guys to buy us drinks. The best way for that to happen was to make out with each other. Mostly, it was kissing, although sometimes we felt each other up. I’m ashamed of the fact we did it for the bros, but then it was just partying. Skye, though, hated Heather. She was pleasant, but nobody was fooled. Heather speculated that Skye was jealous and at times I wondered, too. And other times, her inability to keep relationships with men made me wonder. Not that boy troubles make you a lesbian, but her boy troubles ... and now she had this woman who treated her like a kept woman.

The next afternoon, Skye and I got coffee.

“Did you like Tala?”

“Um ... she’s not what I expected.”

“Older?”

“No, I thought she’d be older than she is. She’s so bossy, it was infuriating. Didn’t you want to hit her when she wiped your mouth?”

She took a sip of juice. “No. I guess I got used to it. She’s just trying to help me be a better person. She likes to help.”

“Likes to control is more like it.”

“Please, Madeline, I like her. Other than you, she’s my only friend right now.”

“Is that all she is?”

“What? What are you saying?”

“I’m asking if you have sex with her. I don’t care if you do, I’m just surprised--”

“No. God, Madeline. We’re just friends. Did I ever try to fuck you? Don’t forget about the time you crawled into my bed naked. That was you, not me.”

“I was drunk. I didn’t--”

“Yeah, you said.”

I frowned, truly hurt at her sudden hostility. The truth was that night, I was wasted. I’d been doing tequila shots off Heather’s belly and was horny as fuck. I knew I could go home with Heather, but found myself back in my dorm suite. I climbed into bed with her hoping Heather had been right. That night, I’d wanted her. Skye called me a dyke. It took months for our friendship to recover and now she was bringing it back up.

I shook me head at her, my old hurt coming back.

She took my hand and squeezed it... “I know, and I’m sorry. But, really, I’m not involved with Tala that way.”

“Don’t you get tired of her ordering your meals and wiping your mouth? You’re almost twenty-seven, Skye. You have to admit, it’s weird.”

She played with her lemon tart.

“No. I like it,” she almost whispered it. And she blushed.

“Darling, you know I don’t judge, right?”

“Really, I wouldn’t be ashamed if I were gay. I’m not. There’s nothing between Tala and I for you to judge.”

“Alright,” I answered, not entirely convinced. Given what I knew about her parents and what she thought of Heather or any of the gay women I’d known since, I knew she’d be ashamed. And that might keep her from telling me, despite everything we’d shared over the years.

Over the course of the summer, I was dragged to brunch and even dinner with Tala at least once a week, sometimes more. I couldn’t shake the suspicion that they were lovers, which made me sad. Skye was slightly evasive about what she and Tala did when I wasn’t there and the relationship was so odd.

Over meals, Tala corrected Skye’s posture, her use of silverware, and even once, her expression. Skye always walked two steps behind Tala. Always. I tried to interrupt it, but she quickly got back in place. When I asked about it, she blushed, but denied it was a thing.

But Tala found Skye a job, one that lasted past the summer, and had actual potential. Skye stopped dressing in her hippie-chic way and always looked professional. Her posture reflected confidence I hadn’t realized she’d been missing. So by September, I’d come to accept Tala might be annoyingly bossy at times, but she was good for Skye.

In mid-October, Skye went to Texas for a three-week business trip. I was surprised when Tala called me and asked if I wanted to go shopping. I knew she took Skye shopping--all the professional wardrobe had been on Tala’s Visa--so I was uncomfortable saying yes. Plus, she was Skye’s whatever she was.

Tala, however, didn’t give me time to voice my doubts. She told me where to meet her and at what time. I don’t know how come I didn’t just make up an excuse, but I suppose I was too confused or anxious to do anything other than agree.

We had lunch at a tiny Italian place near Water Tower Place. She ordered--at that point, I’d gotten used to not having a choice--and, when the bill came, picked it up before I could even think about a response. When I reached for my purse, she shook her head. “You and Blake should be saving for a home, Madeline.”

We went--or rather, she took me--to a spa and had our nails done. As we sat there, I realized Skye’s nails, which always tended toward chipped because she bit them when she was nervous, had been perfect for at least a month. I kept my own nails short and round. They weren’t something I gave much thought to, and didn’t want to. When I started to describe what I wanted to the nail technician, Tala interrupted. “She needs to grow them out a bit. Give her French tips and cut them straight.”

“I think I--”

“Oh, trust me, Madeline, you’ll like them better this way.”

“Well, maybe this once.”

God, she was so bossy, but I smiled, exactly because this was something so particular to Tala. Nobody else would be so rude, but yet, it no longer felt rude. It felt almost like an endearing character trait.

At Neiman Marcus, we went to the designer boutique. It doesn’t function like a store, not like the kind of stores I shop at, where you get the clothes, try them on, and take the ones you want to the counter. Here, they brought the clothes to you. Tala directed them, of course, sending me in to try on a half-dozen outfits. I felt guilty because there was no way I could afford even a sweater--nothing I put on cost less than a thousand dollars.

Tala and the personal shopper watched me spin in front of the mirrors. I think I may have actually giggled once, the dress was so beautiful. The personal shopper complemented me just to the point where I started to think about her commission, but not so much I would have suspected it if I were actually going to buy the clothes. Tala just smiled and pointed out the ways each dress flattered me in unique ways.