Chapter 6

When Marigold woke, the world seemed to have gone fuzzy around the edges. She was alone in the bed. Her head ached. She'd slept so soundly that she had cricks in her neck and back. She was still sticky from the night before.

Groaning, she hoisted herself up onto her elbows, opening her eyes only reluctantly. Early morning light slanted in from the window. On the bedside table, an airline-sized bottle of vodka stood open, a third of the way full. Marigold chuckled darkly. She'd never had much of a taste for alcohol, but this was ridiculous.

Sitting up on the edge of the bed, Marigold rubbed her neck and tried to arch her back, balanced on one hand. Standing, she placed a fist in the small of her back and leaned backwards over it.

The door opened, admitting Thule. He was dressed in a charcoal gray business suit, adjusting a red, silk tie. His long, black mane was tied into a neat ponytail. Instinctively, Marigold straightened up, covering herself as well as she could with her own arms. Thule cocked an eyebrow at her. Reluctantly, she let her arms drop to her sides.

"I didn't wake you, did I?" he asked. Marigold shook her head in the negative.

"So," Thule asked, buttoning his jacket, "how do I look?"

Marigold stroked her jaw, considering the question, "Pretty professional."

Thule smirked, "Only pretty professional?"

Marigold nodded, but said nothing. Instead, she turned her back and walked to the closet, extracting her robe and wrapping it around herself.

"That reminds me," said Thule. "I have a gift for you. I was going to give it to you last night, after dinner, but..." He spread his hands as if in explanation, letting his words trail off. He left the room momentarily, then came back with a long box wrapped in silver paper.

As he held the box out, Marigold stared at it warily. Thule smiled, "Take it."

Marigold reached out and took the box. Considering all the things she'd been ordered to do, this was easy. In fact, being ordered to do it actually seemed to take away some of the guilt she normally associated with accepting gifts. Sitting on the bed Indian-style, she slit the tape holding the paper together nearly with one fingernail. For some reason, she felt that it was very important to behave like a grown up right now.

She opened the box and drew out a red, silken kimono. A lotus blossum was painted across the back of it in loving detail.

"I suspect you won't be able to wear that at home," said Thule, sounding almost bashful. "But, I was thinking you could wear it at Harvard. Maybe you'll remember..." Again, he trailed off.

Marigold stood up, her hands going to the belt at her waist. Thule said, "You'll probably want to wash up before you try it on. It's not very practical to clean."

Marigold looked down longingly at the robe, wanting to put it on, to have Thule see her in it. Reluctantly, she let her hands drop, "Thank you, Thule," she said. "I'm sure that I'll be glad to have it at Harvard."

Wrapping her arms around Thule, she hugged him. After a moment, Thule hugged her back. As he leaned down to kiss her, Marigold felt a moment of panic. But, the kiss was gentle, not passionate.

"How do you feel this morning?" he asked.

"Violated," Marigold said as if it didn't matter, "and sore."

"Do you mind as much as you thought you would?"

Marigold lowered her head, pressing it against Thule's shoulder to try to hide her tears, but her shoulders shook with them. Thule's arms tightened around her.

"No," she whispered. "Not that much."

Thule stroked her hair, his touch feather-light, "You are a very peculiar girl, Marigold."

Marigold leaned into his hand like a cat would, closing her eyes. She allowed herself to sink back into the fantasy that Thule was her boyfriend and she was here of her own free will.

"You probably need to get going," Marigold said, detaching herself from his arms.

Thule nodded, "Shortly. Is there something unprofessional about the way I look?"

Marigold reached up and smoothed his collar, "Much better. Only..."

Thule raised an eyebrow, waiting patiently. After a few seconds, Marigold said, "I only wish we could do something about your hair. I suppose tying it back will have to do."

Thule didn't answer. Leaning in to kiss her on the top of the head, he said, "I'll be back no later than two. Until then, your time is your own. If you get anything to eat, just sign it to the room."

"Thank you, Thule," she said, surprised to find that her words reflected genuine gratitude. Thule gave her an ironic half-smile, picked up his briefcase, and was gone.

Marigold found herself standing alone in the bedroom in front of the open closet. Somehow, when she'd thought ahead to this weekend, no matter how she felt about it, she'd assumed that Thule would be there with her the whole time, not leaving her to her own devices.

As long as he'd been there, Marigold had felt... not right about what she was doing, but not exactly wrong, either. She'd felt... absolved. She was only following orders. Whether she enjoyed it or not didn't matter because it was coerced.

Looking in the mirror on the back of the closet door, Marigold wondered what was wrong with the light in this room that it made her eyes look so glassy, like she was about to cry. The thought had barely crossed her mind when she found herself sagging to her knees, laying her head against the mirror's cool surface, and weeping.

What was wrong with her? Not ten minutes before, she'd been on an even keel, accepting of what had happened. Now, she found herself fighting an urge to curl up in a ball on the floor. She wanted nothing so desperately as to pull her old, comfortable terrycloth robe out of her luggage, climb back into bed, and sleep.

She couldn't, though. Thule would be back by two. She may not know what she wanted right now, but she did know that she didn't want to make him angry. Last night had brought out in stark relief just how much the quality of her life depended on keeping Thule... well, not happy. There was something dark and troubled about Thule today... but, at least, not mad at her.

Taking a moment to brace herself, she looked in the mirror again and heard her own involuntary snort of laughter at just how ridiculous she looked. Spurred to action, she rose, walked into the large main bathroom, and turned on the faucet for the big whirlpool tub.

For a long time, she stared at the running water, thinking nothing, letting the steam open her pores. She needed cleansing. If she could just get clean, she would feel worlds better. Of course she was miserable. With tears drying on her cheeks and something that didn't bear investigating drying on the insides of her thighs, how could she be anything but miserable?

Turning on the jets, she stepped over the edge, relieved to see that the steam had already fogged up the mirrors around the tub. Did this hotel have some kind of a weird mirror fetish? Didn't they know that girl might want to have a place where she didn't have to look at herself once in a while.

Not a girl, she corrected herself, a woman. Wasn't that what they said after a girl had sex for the first time--that she'd become a woman? Fine. She had no idea what else she was now. At least she had one element of identity to hold onto.

With the jets swirling around her, pounding aches out of her muscles, Marigold tried to decide what else she was. The first words that came to mind, unbidden, were "a whore," but they didn't last. As much as she'd done last night, even things she'd sworn to herself not so long ago that she would never do, she had to acknowledge that, from a practical standpoint, it probably took more than could be done in a single night with a single man to make a girl into a proper whore.

She certainly wasn't "the Virgin Marigold," anymore as Brianne had been so fond of taunting her with. Idly, she fantasized about laughing in Brianne's face the next time she brought out that old saw. Of course, that would leave her in the position of explaining that it hadn't been with her boyfriend, Elliot, but with Thule, the king of the dregs.

What was she going to do about Elliot? She'd accepted that she was going to lose him and, with him, her plans for what to do once school was over. With acceptance came the realization that the thought of losing him didn't effect her much either way. With one brief exception, he'd been her boyfriend for as long as she'd had a boyfriend, but their relationship had never progressed much beyond what it was when they were eleven years old. Earlier this year, she'd been surprised to find that he had applied to schools outside of Boston "just to be safe" and, at least as of the last time she talked to him, still not declared which school he was going to.

What was left of her, then? How would she describe herself?

She was a Christian still, certainly. No matter how many of God's laws you broke, you didn't get expelled from that. But, the more she saw of people who felt the need to describe themselves as Christian, the less she felt comfortable attaching the adjective to herself.

She was still going to be Valedictorian. Thule could have forced her to let her grades slip so that he graduated first in their class, but he really didn't seem to care. Imagine that. All this time, she'd imagined him breathing down her neck, agonizing over every assignment, every test, every grade the way she did and he didn't even care.

She was still studious, then. She was still going to Harvard, then John's Hopkins.

She tried that description on for size, "Dr. Marigold Tarr, studious woman." The words echoed back at her. The ridiculousness of it made her giggle.

What about the rest of her plans? The wedding between college and medical school? The three children, two girls and a boy, little Jonas II, Jessica, and Maya? She shrugged. She would just have to find someone else to marry. Maybe that's what she would do to Thule if she ever found anything to blackmail him with--make him marry her, cut his hair, and get a good job. That would show him.

Most of the soreness had melted away by now. Only her thighs still ached from the abuse they had taken. Hanging over the edge of the tub, she straddled one of the jets. Letting the water pound against one, then the other thigh, she was careful not to hold herself so low that she would be masturbating, as much as she might like to. The path of the righteous was often narrow and hard. Whatever Thule did to her, however he made her feel, she knew the difference between being coerced and going willingly into sin.

Still, it was with no small measure of regret that she finally drained the tub. While she'd bathed, the maid had come in, made the beds, and left more towels. She'd even taken away the little vodka bottle. The room looked almost sterile in its cleanliness. With all signs of the evening's debauch gone, Marigold felt her spirits rise. She dried herself off and wrapped the kimono around her body. It turned out to be surprisingly modest in cut even if the feeling of silk against her skin seemed vaguely illicit.

Later, sitting on the veranda, wrapped in the kimono, she drank too-bitter coffee made palatable with cream and sugar, and nibbled on a croissant. The late spring sunlight played on her skin, cooled by a gentle breeze. From far below, she heard traffic noise. But, up here, she felt isolated, protected from the world.

"Dr. Marigold Tarr, studious woman," she said again. This time, she didn't giggle, only smiled. It didn't sound so bad.

-=-

After breakfast, Marigold lounged on the couch in the suite's living room trying on her identity as a sophisticated, sexual young woman. She could still feel Thule inside of her. When she got tired of lounging, she tried to read her biology textbook. After reading the same paragraph six times without getting any meaning out of it, she gave up on homework as a lost cause.

In the bedroom, she frowned at her bathing suit. She'd bought it last year more with the idea of flattening her figure than flattering it. The truth was that it didn't do much of either. She would have to do something about that.

Downstairs, there were two pools, one marked "family," the other "no children." She took two steps towards the former before steeling herself and heading to the "no children" side. She'd paid the dues of adulthood. She might as well enjoy it.

Still half expecting to hear someone yell at her to get back to the kiddie pool, Marigold dove into the deep end, slicing neatly into the water. There was only one other swimmer in the pool, cutting across the lanes, back and forth. Rather than risk collision, Marigold swam in parallel with him, pushing herself hard. The exertion felt good. She lost track of how many times she crossed before noticing that the other swimmer had stopped and was trying to speak to her.

Latching onto the wall, she turned to face him, "Excuse me?"

"I said, 'You're a very strong swimmer.'" the man said, his voice thick with an Australian accent, "You were leaving me in the dust out there."

"Oh," said Marigold. "Thank you. I was just working out some tension."

The man nodded, "Me too. I just spent most of the day on an airplane."

"From Australia?"

"Moscow," said the man. "I haven't been home in three months. By the way, I'm Adam." He extended a hand to shake.

Marigold took the hand and introduced herself, "Nice to meet you."

Shaking her hand, Adam said, "Well, Marigold. I know it's a bit early by the clock on the wall, but I feel like it's about midnight. Can I offer you a drink?"

Marigold almost demurred without thinking. She'd never really drunk alcohol. But, she paused and appraised Adam. He was older, maybe by as much as ten years. She wondered if Thule would even care if he saw her having a drink with another guy. He certainly hadn't forbidden it.

"All right," she said. "Something with vodka in it, I think."

Adam leveraged himself out of the pool, "A screwdriver?"

Marigold nodded, "Sure."

By the time Adam came back, Marigold had wrapped herself in one of the hotel's robes and sat down at one of the unoccupied tables at poolside. The drink was sweet and barely tasted like alcohol.

"So," asked Adam, sipping his beer. "Are you here with your husband?"

Marigold smiled. She must be pulling off the adult act better than she thought. Not wanting to be caught out for the game she was playing, she said, "Yes. He's meeting some investors today."

"Oh," Adam's face fell. "Only..."

"Only?"

"Well," said Adam. "You're not wearing a ring."

"Oh," said Marigold, her hands fluttering to her face at being caught in a lie. "He's not really my husband yet. He's my fiancee."

Marigold was still congratulating herself for the quick save when Adam said, "Still, no ring?"

"Err..." said Marigold. "We... that is... we'll have one soon... once we graduate. Bartholomew's going to be an electrical engineer. Then, we'll have a ring and a big wedding."

"Oh," said Adam. "Where do you go to school?"

"Harvard," said Marigold. "My husband goes to MIT."

"Your fiancee," prompted Adam. "Bartholomew."

"Thule," said Marigold. "His friends call him Thule."

"So," asked Adam. "Are you and Thule in New York for long?"

Marigold shook her head, "Just for the weekend. Then we have to get back to Boston for class."

"That's a pity," said Adam. "I'm here for two weeks. It would be nice to have the company of a couple of bright people my own age. It's been a long time since I've had any real non-business-related contact. And, I'm not going to see my family for another three months." He took a long slug from his beer.

"Family?"

Adam smiled, "My wife and my two year old son, Devon. I hate leaving them alone like this. But, it's a couple of years before I'll be able to work out of the home office."

"Your wife?" Marigold glanced meaningfully at his hand.

Adam held up the appendage in question displaying his bare ring finger, "I'm on the road six months at a time. My wife is a very... understanding woman."

He made eye contact on the last two words. Marigold looked away, "So, what do you do that keeps you away from home so much?"

"I travel in espionage."

"Excuse me?"

"I sell surveillance equipment--tiny cameras, microphones, little recorders."

Marigold leaned her head on her hand, "Really? How interesting."

Adam looked surprised, "Really? Most people just think it's creepy. Personally, I'm a bit bored with it. I sell mostly to big corporations and police departments."

The rest of the conversation went much more smoothly. Marigold barely had to embellish on the original lie. At some point, Adam went to get himself another beer and brought her another screwdriver.

Marigold became so engrossed in the conversation that she lost all track of time. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was nearly ten after two. Leaping to her feet, she said, "Oh, God."

Adam's face showed concern, "Is something wrong."

"No," said Marigold hurriedly. "I just realized that I'm late. I have to go. It was nice meeting you, Adam."

"You, too," said Adam. "If you want to talk again or anything, I'm in room 822."

-=-

Marigold bolted back to the suite, fearing what punishment might be waiting for her. Letting herself in, she called out, "Thule?"

Hearing no answer, Marigold collapsed on the couch, feeling like she'd dodged a bullet. When Thule arrived ten minutes later, she'd had just enough time to worry that something might have happened to him. She rose and wrapped her arms as far as they would go around his barrel chest, laying her head below his heart. After a momentary pause, Thule hugged her back.

"You're in a much better mood," he commented.

Marigold, who had completely forgotten about her foul mood earlier in the day, realized that she was just glad to see Thule. She tilted her head back for a kiss. He accommodated her, his tongue teasing hers out of her mouth.

"You've been drinking," he said, sounding surprised.

"You got me drunk last night," Marigold pointed out, smiling. "I thought I should at least see what alcohol tasted like. How was your meeting?"

Thule stepped out of the circle of her arms, "Non-productive. The guys loved my product, but don't want to buy it. They want me to join their little company and bring the software with me. And, there's no way I can realistically do that while I'm a freshman at MIT without working myself into an early grave." As he spoke, he threw his jacket over a chair and undid his tie, "Have you had lunch yet?"

"No," said Marigold. "I didn't know if you would want to eat lunch together."

Thule smiled, "Sounds good. Do you want to go downstairs or eat here?"

Marigold's heart sank at the idea of running into Adam downstairs at the restaurant and having to explain her story to Thule when she wasn't even sure why she had told it in the first place. Quickly, she said, "Let's eat here."

"All right," said Thule. "Would you call down the order and stay dressed enough to answer the door, please? I'm going to change into something more comfortable."

They took lunch on the patio. For once, the conversation lacked its usual brooding intensity. When Marigold asked Thule what the product was he was trying to sell, he rattled off an explanation involving phrases like, "Bayesian analysis," "topography," and "heuristic processes."

"Now I feel stupid," said Marigold. "Not only could I not build something like that, I still don't know what it is."

Thule smiled, "You're not stupid, Little Flower. It's a tool for representing complex data, creating generalizations from it, and using those generalizations for decision making."

"I don't remember learning any of that in school," said Marigold. "I must have been out that day."

"We didn't," said Thule. "I've been a math geek since like the fourth grade."

Before she could stop herself, Marigold blurted out, "Thule, you're not a geek."

Thule raised an eyebrow at her, "Sure I am. I worked hard to earn that title."

"But..." said Marigold, stunned.

"Yes?" asked Thule, a note of menace creeping into his voice.

"Nothing," said Marigold quietly. Thule just looked at her until she realized she would not be able to leave it at that.

"It's just that... you're in such good shape," said Marigold. Still, Thule didn't speak. She knew that wasn't a good answer. "And you know how to talk to people... And..." Now, she blushed furiously.

"And..."

Marigold's voice was a whisper, "and you clearly know what you're doing in bed."

"And that makes me not a geek?" Thule asked.

Marigold nodded, not knowing where he was going with this conversation.

"So," he asked, his voice casual. "Who did you fuck to get to get such good grades?"

Marigold sat bolt upright, "No one. Thule, I earned my grades."

"Couldn't be," said Thule. "Everyone knows popular girls are too stupid to get more than a C+ without fucking somebody. In between the teachers and the football team, it's a wonder you don't have bedsores on your back."

It took Marigold a second to realize what Thule was getting at. When she did, she released a burst of relieved laughter. Still, his face was angry.

"Thule, I'm so sorry," she said. "I know most of those things are cliches. It's just force of habit. I'm sorry."

"Marigold," he said patiently. "I would think that, after the time we've spent together, particularly at lunch, that you would have learned something."

"I have," said Marigold, getting upset. "Thule, I really like most of the guys that we eat lunch with. I said I was sorry. Do you want me to beg for forgiveness?"

"Yes," said Thule. His voice was almost even, but held an undercurrent of menace. He rose to stand in front of her.

"All right," said Marigold, looking up at him. "I'm begging. Please forgive me."

"I don't think that seated is really the appropriate position from which to beg."

Marigold looked around in stunned surprise. Looking straight at Thule, her eyes were at crotch level. She could see his arousal. Giving a little nod, she went down to her knees, her bottom resting on her feet.

After a moment, Thule asked, "Well?"

"I'm sorry," said Marigold, close enough to feel warmth radiating off his body. "I forgot what I was supposed to be begging for."

"You were begging me not to be mad at you for being a shallow, superficial bitch."

Marigold smiled to herself, "Please, Thule," she said, leaning forward, "Don't be angry with me." She reached out her hands and began to undo his fly, "Please," she said.

"Marigold," Thule said evenly. "A genuine apology does not require physical contact."

Marigold was stunned. If she wasn't down here to suck his cock, what was she there for? He couldn't actually just want her down there, begging forgiveness for telling the truth about geeks, could he? But, the longer she thought about it, the more she realized that there were no obvious conclusions other than that one.

"Please, Thule," she said, "Don't be angry at me for what I said."

He looked down at her, but didn't say anything.

"Please, Thule," she said again, "Don't be angry at me."

"For what?" Thule asked.

"For what I said," Marigold answered.

"Is that what I told you to beg for?"

Marigold was stunned again, but her response time for getting over being stunned was improving by leaps and bounds, "Please, Thule," she recited, "Don't be angry at me for being a shallow, superficial bitch."

"Are you contrite, Little Flower?"

"Yes, Thule," she answered, "I think so."

"Well," asked Thule, "are you or aren't you?"

"I don't know," admitted Marigold, "I'm not sure what's wrong with what I said. I am sorry for making you angry, though."

"I'm not angry, Little Flower," said Thule, stroking her hair. "I'm just disappointed to see that you still think those labels mean anything. If Brianne decided to call you a geek tomorrow, who would agree with her?"

"June Kane," said Marigold. "And the other cheerleaders." She thought about it, "And the guys on the teams would probably repeat it." She lowered her head, "Pretty much everyone, I guess--except the geeks themselves."

"And, how would you be different?" Thule asked.

"What?" Marigold's head shot up.

"How would you be different?"

"I wouldn't."

"But, you would be a geek," said Thule. "By extension, you would be out of shape, socially inept, and lousy in bed."

"I wouldn't actually be a geek," said Marigold. "just because they called me a geek."

"Would you be popular?"

Marigold lowered her head again, "I suppose not. Are you saying that some of the geeks aren't really geeks even though everyone calls them geeks?"

"I'm saying," Thule sighed heavily, "that broad generalizations rarely actually mean anything. Some of those 'geeks' spend every weekend making or swinging swords and are a good deal stronger than the jocks. Most of them know how to talk to people, but rarely find anything that people outside of their own circle say interesting. Some..." he let the word hang in the air, "even know how to fuck with reasonable proficiency. You can't apply generalities to specific cases as if it were gospel. You know, if you would watch TV once in a while, I wouldn't have to explain this."

"I watch TV," said Marigold defensively.

"Regardless," said Thule. "The problem is that you are making group generalizations based on what you've observed and applying them to the individuals in the group. You presuppose you know everything about a person because you can label them."

"Oh," said Marigold. She thought for a moment, "Isn't that what the software you wrote does?"

Thule blinked down at her. By the stunned look on his face, Marigold knew that she'd scored a point. Afraid she was about to be punished, she stared back up at him, not speaking.

"I appreciate the irony," said Thule finally. "But, it's not the same thing."

"All right," said Marigold, not willing to press the point.

"Stand up," said Thule. "Go inside. Take off what you're wearing and put on the kimono I gave you. Then, come back out here."

Marigold hurried to obey. When she came back, Thule said, "Hold onto the railing with both hands. Don't let go until I tell you that you may."

Marigold nodded, gripping the railing and closing her eyes. She trembled as Thule pressed himself up against her back, pinning her to the railing.

"Thule..."

Thule placed a finger over her lips and growled in her ear, "No speaking except to answer questions."

Marigold nodded. Thule took his finger away from her mouth. With both hands, he gripped the sides of her kimono at the waist, pulling until the material was resting on her hips, leaving her naked from the waist down. Marigold moaned in anticipation. She couldn't believe that Thule was going to take her right there.

His hand snaked down between her legs, pushing them apart, a finger sliding just inside of her. Marigold moaned again.

"God," said Thule. "You're soaking wet. Does begging really turn you on that much?"

Marigold nodded, surprising herself. When she spoke, it was a rasp, "Yes."

Thule chuckled. Marigold felt herself flush.

"Now that I have your attention, I will explain," said Thule.

Marigold let out a groan of protest. Thule wanted her to listen to an explanation now?

"The application I've written applies generalizations for the purpose of creating a best guess of group activities before specialization. For instance, if it were set up to evaluate the actions of ten thousand cheerleaders, it could probably be right seventy to seventy-five percent of the time on many questions. But, that demographic would include you, Brianne, Dawn, Ioke, Maya, and June Kane. In terms of individual analysis, it could be wildly off. Does that make sense?"

As he spoke, Thule had been letting his fingers have free reign inside of her, letting the tips graze time and again over her clit. Now, she shook her head, "Oh, God, Thule... no."

Thule chuckled, "Are you answering my question or protesting my actions?"

"Answering," Marigold said, then moaned. "I... please don't stop what you're doing."

Thule started to withdraw his fingers, "I may have to. You don't seem to be listening."

"It's not that," protested Marigold pressing herself against Thule's fingers, trying to get him back inside of her. "I... I haven't been a cheerleader in years. I never hang out with the cheerleaders except at lunch and on the front steps before school. I don't go to their parties or..."

"All right," said Thule, absentmindedly stroking her clit again. Marigold's whole body shuddered in relief and pleasure. "But, when you were a cheerleader, were you just like Brianne?"

Marigold wanted to deny it, but wondered what answer Thule expected. In the last few years, she'd been pretty cruel at times, but never really enjoyed it like Brianne did. She'd only done what it took to stay popular. If she'd been nice to everyone, she would only have shared in their torment.