Chapter 2: Coffee Break

Interlude: 25^th Anniversary

Cindy:

Dad never did become a paying client, though there were a few friendly sessions. Somehow Aunt Francine got involved, though I was never clear on exactly how. Knowing Aunt Frannie, it was probably inappropriate advice about their love life. Mostly, Mom and Dad just hit it off. The first day, even before they had a date, Mom sent Dad a workout picture of herself. I think it must have been pretty racy, since Dad will not show it to me.

Sheila:

Beep, Beep, Beep, Beep

The alarm had gone off. I never sleep to the alarm. Sitting up in bed, I stretched like Scarlett O'Hara the morning after Rhett's "Behold my hands, my dear." Oh my goodness. He said that just before not entirely consensual sex. But Scarlett loved it the morning after, and this was my morning after.

There was a definite sated quality about me that morning. I ached, but there was a languor to my movements and a completion to my sensibilities. I had not felt this good in years. It was all because of him, G. Sean Richards.

I rose and pulled on a robe. How far out of it had I been last night? I still had on my stockings, but nothing else. I never slept in the raw, and rarely without bathing. My thoughts went back to wanting a shower the night before, but I had had to print my pictures.

Pictures. Leaving the shower running, I went to the entrance table, and there were the pictures. Years of editing pictures for clients had made me something of an expert on certain types of photography. These were quite good.

If I say so myself, the full -- length shot was arresting. The arms were bound back, of course. My head was down and slightly to one side and the eyes were hooded from the camera. My hair was pulled over the near shoulder, mostly covering one breast, which served to accent the other. My thatch was fully visible, and clearly due for a trim, but the arresting part was the dewing I had seen the night before. One leg was straight, while the other was bent to allow Sean Richards to massage it. The expression on my face was one of near rapture.

I had to remind myself that the woman in the picture was me. This was not the me that looked out of my mirror in the morning. I carefully packed the picture in an acid-free sleeve. Who knew what the future might bring. There was a chance I might show it to someone, eventually.

If anything, the other picture was better than the first, though in a sense, they were the same. The second photo was a cropping of the first picture, enlarged to fit the paper. This one was a simple torso shot, beginning just below the chin, and extending to just past the cleft. In the closer frame, the dewing was much more apparent. But what really made the shot was a curl of hair, my hair, neatly framing my right nipple. That detail had gone unnoticed when I printed the picture the night before. The nipple was fully erect, stiff even. This, merged with with the taught musculature and the dewing, screamed sexual tension. Just looking at it brought hot flashes, and I am not normally much taken by visual erotica.

As simple and anonymous as this picture was, I could easily sell a dozen among my clients. Triple the price if they knew who was in the picture, though I doubt any would guess. None of them, for example, had ever seen the birthmark above my navel. The rights for internet reproduction would be worth thousands. On this one picture, I could go wild at the online auctions some Saturday night. Smiling to myself, I decided Mr. Richards would get a bonus with his disclosure documents.

Hours later, I had completed my first round of clients for the day. Fortunately, I was able to do my appointments almost on autopilot. I had gotten a few odd looks, but no one made any comments, and sessions proceeded as expected. At 11:00 AM I could break for lunch and business. Today, business was G. Sean Richards.

The name caused problems, but it was only because there was disagreement on his first initial. Charles had told me "G". There were hits on that name in town, but the Chamber of Commerce listed him as C. Sean Richards, owner, founder and proprietor of Richards Imports and Richards Consulting. Their bio painted a picture of a local man, who had taken a small family import store and turned it into a group of successful businesses. The import business maintained offices on the far side of downtown. There was also a warehouse address not far from my studio. The website of his consulting firm offered advice on customs issues, liaison, brokerage and auctioneering services. A list of accountants and lawyers were provided as well.

Going back to the biography, I could see I misjudged his age. I had thought early 40s, but his listed high school graduation was much later. Then it hit me; Frannie knew him. She had to, since they graduated in the same class from Mt. Pleasant HS, which is not that big a school. Everyone knew everyone else, at least a little.

Finding Francine was not difficult. Within five minutes, I had left a message with her service. By the time I finished calling in my lunch order, she had called me back. After a minute of signing off the other call, I said hello.

She almost squealed back, "Sheila Schwartz. Oh my God. What have you been doing."

I was flattered a star like Francine Martel remembered my name. "I have a training and fitness studio. It pays the bills. Not like you. I see your name all over the place, and with stars."

She wanted none of it, "Oh get off Sheila. You were much better than I was. I just have the figure for it, and eventually you didn't. These days, I play mothers and girlfriends, generally off -- Broadway. You would still be headlining. But, something tells me you did not call to reminisce about Oskar Gruber's Chamber of Horrors. What's up?"

I choked back a laugh, "I actually own that studio. I own the whole warehouse. You should see it now. The main floor is leased to XTreme Gym, but the audition room is my private studio. It could still be called a "chamber of horrors." However, I called about a guy you might have known in high school. His name is Sean Richards. Do you remember him?"

She thought, "Sean Richards. That does not ring a bell. Do you have anything else?

"Sean is his middle name. His first initial is C or G. No one seems to have his full name."

"Oh Jeez. You mean Ricky. His first initial is a C, for Clarence. He hates it. In high school he went by Ricky Richards. Tallish guy, very controlled, knew all the sports and talked a good game, but never got involved with the jocks. Dated Marie and Monica Simmons on and off. Supposedly dated both at once, if you can believe it. I wonder what happened to them?"

"The twins married a couple of brothers from Newark. I have not seen or heard from them in years. What else can you tell me about Mr. Richards?"

"Oh, 'Mister' is it? I can tell you he is serious about his sense of how things are done. We dated a couple times, but, you know how it is with practice. He was not much better: Junior Achievement, drama and yearbook, not to mention actually studying. He finished 2^nd or 3^rd and our Valedictorian was that Special Ed girl, Paula something. They changed the rules after we graduated, so it couldn't happen again.

"As I recall, Ricky likes to call the shots, but he has some serious ham in his closet. He will slide into a role like it was his life. That is how you deal with him. Put him in a role that requires him to do what you want done. He will move the world before he drops a role. God, he sounds like my last leading man. No wonder we clashed.

"Tell me something Sheila, seriously. Are you falling for this guy? Because, he will be a lot of work, but he could well be worth it."

I thought for a moment, but before I could answer, she spouted, "Oh my God. I just got paged. Some thing is wrong. We'll do lunch tomorrow. I'll text you." With that, she was gone. Knowing productions, she would be unavailable for hours, if not the rest of the day. Damn.

I skipped lunch to do some stretching. Even though I was in warm ups, I got a tingle when I placed my ankle on the bar the first time. I stretched out into what Mr. Richards called First Position and held it for ten measured breaths. Shifting legs, I held for ten more. The effect was wonderful. It was perfectly suited for stretching my hams and glutes, plus it put nice tension on the small back muscles. I did another set, this time rotating from opposite hand on the bar, to hand overhead, with back and neck arched, and back down to the bar. Twice through both legs and I had a nice glow. It was time for a shower before handling more clients.

As I passed the mirror, on the way to the shower, I could faintly see the red markings from my favorite flogger. I love the piece. The grip is natural sharkskin, and the thongs are split kangaroo hide, except the last three inches, which serves to weight and stiffen the striking point. I love the weight and the balance, but mostly I love how it leaves vivid marks on the skin. I fingered the marks it had left on my skin, as I stared at the mirror. This was something else I might gift to Clarence Sean Richards, but this he would have to earn.

After redressing, I went to the office, pulled out the standard disclosure package and a messenger envelope. Then, I took the torso shot and considered it. One of my signature methods is to gloss my lips heavily, and leave a strategically placed kiss somewhere on my clients' person, generally somewhere red from a lashing. When they come to me for pictures of the session, the shots they chose frequently have my lipstick prominently placed. It was too late to put lipstick on myself, but I could kiss the photo. In permanent ink, I wrote, "Love Your Work" and signed it with my lips.

I blotted the excess lip gloss carefully, then placed the picture in an acid-free sleeve, before putting it into the messenger envelope. I highlighted the usual sections on the legal documents and added them to the package. All that was left was a personal note. It was short:

4:00 PM, Tuesday May 26

Call or text me any time

256-9521

C

It was my personal number, which I had only given to my doctor, lawyer and accountant. I almost signed my real name, but he did not know it. Make that he did not know it, yet. I dropped the envelope in the pick-up slot, and called it in.

After that I had appointments all afternoon. Like those in the morning, they were uneventful. When I finally got Randy on his way, it was almost 6:00 PM. The late appointment made up for the two hour lunch break. As promised, Frannie had text me, "Show tomorrow night, so free for lunch. Can you make it to the Coffee Corner in Easton at 11:30?" Thursday's are usually light. I could move things around. I text back, "CU SnS". What in heaven's name had I gotten myself into?