Chapter 17

Wednesday 2/27, Libby and I met up for dinner as usual.

She was already seated at a small table in the side section of the restaurant when I arrived; she smiled and waved to let the hostess know to send me over. I checked in my winter coat, gloves and hat and joined her.

She stood to greet me with a kiss on my cheek, her navy business jacket portraying the smart and successful professional woman inviting her nephew or godson for a meal. I held her chair for her to reseat herself, then sat myself down opposite her.

We made ‘small talk’ about the weather and how our days had been until our server had taken the order and returned with the appetizer.

Then she tilted her head and smiled, “I heard the weekend went extremely well?”

“It certainly did, but I need a huge favor, please.”

She grinned impishly and knowingly, “You want me to have a looooonng talk with Laura?”

“Exactly! How did you guess?”

“I didn’t have to guess, Mike, she already asked me, called me this morning. I invited her to come stay with me this weekend.”

I let out a long exhalation of relief. Sis had done what she’d promised she’d do. I’d been worried she might, in the cold light of day, now feel it was unnecessary and back out of it.

“Thank you! She really does need to talk it through with a good friend like you.”

She acknowledged the compliment with a smile, “I’ll do whatever I can to help her; I’ve long suspected there are some residual issues she’s hidden deeply that are to blame for her reckless behavior. Hopefully I can tease them out of her, and we can work on overcoming them.”

“I don’t want her to have to see a therapist unless we have to; she sees contacting a professional as some kind of red flag.”

“Like publicly acknowledging there’s something so badly wrong she needs serious intervention? Yeah, that’s quite common, too many people think it’s an admission of failure not to be able to sort it out themselves. I’ll try to persuade her there’s no shame in pulling in an experienced practitioner to assist, but with luck the four of us can help her understand why she feels the way she does. I’m thinking a lot of it has to do with your parents and the way they brought her into the lifestyle.”

We were interrupted by the server taking away the empty appetizer plates and bringing the entrée.

Which was probably just as well. In my mind, it’s a slam dunk conviction of our parents for messing up their daughter to satisfy their own perverted lusts. Heck, they messed ME up enough by excluding me from the secret. Whatever, it was not a conversation for a public place.

Libby had ordered the Veal Scallopini in Piccata sauce; I’d gone for the Chicken Marsala on egg noodles; we shared a side of seared zucchini and a caprese salad. We clinked glasses and dug in.

It all tasted great – no surprise: I’d learned that Libby always went for proven quality and reliability; she’d shared a few tales of her colleagues who ‘just had to try’ the latest trendy place and had been disappointed – though they also shared recommendations when the experience had been positive. The kind of information that is essential when you have to wine and dine important clients...

It was a few minutes before Libby started speaking again, but she continued exactly where she’d left off.

“You know I have issues with exactly how informed Laura’s consent actually was?”

I’d calmed down a little with the good food and wine, so I contented myself with a “Yeah, me also!” before she went into lawyer mode.

“In plain language, did she understand what she was getting into? ... and how much coercion was involved? I suspect there’s an ‘obedient’ trait in her which partly explains why she succumbed to your parents quite so easily; they can be dominating, and of course she’s always grown up to love, respect and obey them, exactly like you have. And being sexually submissive to them in their bedroom, the one that she had to wait to be invited into as a child, it kinda strengthened that side of her, made her more susceptible to not looking after her own interests, letting others put their priorities ahead of hers. Hence the putting out to whoever asked, the urge to go find strangers to have sex with, to share her most intimate places with people who didn’t appreciate or deserve them, seeking the love she craved. Of course, she’d lost the connection between love and sex by then.”

“That’s believable.”

“I’m confident that she’s no longer vulnerable to that external pressure, now she’s found you and Jessie to fulfil those needs for love and affection. If I’d had any idea at the time exactly what she WAS getting into her freshman year ... I’d have intervened then – but I never knew. That was so dangerous, going with almost total strangers. There are some seriously bad people around; she could have been date raped, forcibly gangbanged, tortured, far worse than what Marsha and Vic had planned for them.”

Their very names brought another rush of anger to my head – Marsha had told Mom on the phone, while we were listening, that her husband and his friend were intending to ‘nail the two young sluts’ – referring to Laura and Jess. That had been a very unpleasant moment, which had gotten even worse as Mom had dug herself a still bigger hole. I wasn’t entirely sure I was ever gonna forgive that fail of hers; I certainly had no intention of forgetting it.

Libby sighed and took a drink of her wine before looking me in the eye again.

“Mike, I’m not just talking mere kink. What they used to call ‘white slavery’ isn’t just a myth. You don’t know the number of girls who go missing around here; I do. It’s not considered a big enough problem to be treated as seriously as maybe it should be. Not all of them head off to New York, Hollywood or Las Vegas to make their fortunes. A proportion are taken, especially the younger and prettier ones who most appeal to abusers. South American brothels just love a blonde gringa. Laura could have been one of them; luckily her risky behavior happened in a relatively safe town. She’s also got a family and college who would have reported her missing; the traffickers prefer to take runaways and others who won’t be looked for.”

That statement shocked me. My sister possibly being kidnapped or sold into whoring; those possibilities had never entered my naïve middle-class head. This was the United States of America, not some third-world shithole. Seriously, American citizens being sold to Mexican brothels, in this day and age?

My shock must have shown on my face; my dinner companion smiled tenderly and reached out to touch my shoulder, “Mike, it’s okay. It’s still a rare occurrence; it didn’t happen to Laura, and it’s not going to happen now. I’ve told her to come stay with me this weekend so we can go into things a little deeper; I’m sure she’d benefit from unburdening herself some more, and I’ll give her a few more personal safety tips while we’re talking.”

I mumbled my thanks, still a little shaken about a possibility that hadn’t even occurred to me until Libby had suggested it. She changed subject adroitly.

“Why don’t you invite Jessie to spend the weekend here with you? Show her around Boston a little? Get some time for just the two of you?”

That was a great idea, and I said so.

“Oh, one more word of advice, honey, before I forget. All women love honest compliments. Your two girls need as much of your approval as you can give them. Tell them you love them every couple of minutes, more often if you can. Make them feel good about themselves; for such a couple of beauties they’ve still got quite an inferiority complex. You make love to them because you want to give them pleasure; they had too many boys chasing them just because they were a sure thing. You told me once that you were worried about maybe having to compete or fight for them; once they feel confident in your love, they won’t even look up when another guy tries to come on to them.”

Our conversation was again interrupted by the return of our server, who took away the empty entrée dishes and asked if we wanted coffee and dessert. Libby thanked her and asked for the check; in a couple more minutes we were walking through a light snowfall towards Libby’s hotel.

We didn’t talk; the sidewalks were a little slippery in places and she jerked on my arm a couple of times as her leather soles slid on an icy patch.

We pulled off our coats as soon as we entered her hotel room, and I hung them up on the back of the door. She kicked off her shoes and rummaged in one of her bags, holding out a bottle of red wine.

“Grab two glasses from the minibar, will you?”

It was a screw top closure; ideal as there wasn’t a corkscrew in the minibar. The small bottles the hotel offered were also screw top but were certainly not a named Sonoma County Pinot Noir like Libby’s bottle.

Libby had removed her business jacket while I’d been busy and positioned herself on the small couch / loveseat; I poured us both a glass, sat beside her, and we toasted each other.

Wow! The wine was something special.

“Oh, that’s good!”

Libby giggled, “You need to work on your terminology, sweetie. Point your nose up in the air and say something like ‘Full bodied but elegantly low in tannin; I’m getting notes of roast cinnamon and vanilla, maybe a hint of cranberry. Charming light fruit on the palate, would go well with roast salmon.’ Okay?”

I had to laugh with her, “Where did that come from?”

Another giggle, “It’s based on what’s written on the label on the back of the bottle. That was the second thing I read, after the sign that said it was on sale at half normal price, two bottles for thirty dollars. I asked to taste it, liked it and bought two dozen. I should have grabbed more; Toni loves it, and if she was living at home, it would all be gone.”

“It’s good stuff. You gonna keep your eye open for more?”

“Damn right. Might even pay full price. Now, can we get some action? I’m here to let off some steam; the last couple of days in the office have been kinda intense. You up for having some fun now?”

I grinned right back at her.

“Best idea I’ve heard all night!”

She drained her glass, put it on the side table, and stood up from the couch.

“It’s time I got a little more comfortable. What do you think of this outfit, sweetie?”

As she spoke, she unzipped her navy scoop neck sheath dress, dropping it off her arms and shoulders so it pooled around her feet, revealing a matching set of black lacy lingerie – sheer camisole, bra, panties, garter belt and stockings.

Oh my.

She smiled at my facial expression, “Looks like I made a great buy. Sit on the end of the bed, honey, and just watch, don’t move, please?”

I did so; she stepped out of the heap of fabric, picking it up off the floor and laying it carefully on the couch before performing a slow and sexy striptease down to her garter belt and stockings.

I almost disobeyed her instruction to stay still – it was just about okay when she was dragging her lacy black bra across my face so I could inhale the scents of her perfume, but when she repeated the process with her matching panties, which were more than moist with her natural and aromatic juices, I so nearly lost it.

Maybe ten seconds before my male instincts to throw her on the bed and take her could overcome my respect for her, she giggled and instructed me to get naked while she visited the bathroom.

I thought nothing of her taking a bag in with her; I busied myself with getting my clothes piled neatly on a chair, before stripping off the hotel’s ornamental quilt and cushions, policing up the discarded camisole, bra and panties, and pouring us both another glass of Pinot Noir, placing them on the nightstand. That killed the bottle.