Bettie Page Presents: The Librarian (15 page)

CHAPTER 27

Regina spotted the tattooed young messenger woman from across the room.

The messenger headed straight for the Returns Desk, cracking her gum, on a mission. “You changed desks,” she said.

“Yes,” Regina said.

“But I found you anyway,” she said.

“Apparently.”

“This is for you. And I need you to sign.”

Regina took the large black box wrapped with a wide white satin ribbon and put it on the floor. Then she signed the sheet of paper on the young woman's clipboard and waited for her to leave.

“Is there something else?” Regina asked.

“I'm supposed to take something from you to deliver back to him.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I dunno,” the young woman said, her gum snapping so loud that a few library patrons looked over at them. “The guy said for you to open the box and you'll understand.”

“Oh, Lord. You have to leave. I don't want my boss to see this.”

“This guy tips—a
lot
. I'm not leaving.”

“Fine,” Regina sighed, and undid the ribbon, removing the lid of the box.

Inside, under a cloud of white tissue paper, she found a gleaming black Chanel tote bag, quilted leather imprinted with the large double-C logo on each side. The gold link straps had leather where they would rest on her shoulder. A note was lying on top.

My dearest R,

Happy birthday. I hate being late, but in this instance we both know I didn't have much of a choice. I hope you'll find the gift inside useful. And not wanting to leave that to chance, I've instructed the person delivering it to take that hideous canvas sack you carry and deliver it to me. Chanel assured me that this bag is more than capable of handling all of your books.

Inside the interior pouch is your room key for the Four Seasons. Your clothes for tonight—and your real birthday present—will be waiting for you when you get off from work.

Until then,

—S.

“Can we keep this moving along?” asked the messenger. Regina had forgotten she was there.

“Um, yeah . . .” Regina said. She picked up her well-worn Old Navy bag and emptied the contents onto the floor by her feet so the messenger wouldn't see what she was doing. Then she handed it over to her. She felt a pang of nostalgia for the old bag, but this certainly wasn't worth an act of refusal.

“This is what I'm supposed to deliver back?” asked the young woman, handling the bag like it might be contagious.

“Yeah,” said Regina. “That's it.”

•

Regina and Margaret found a table in Bryant Park, a lush nine-acre expanse of green lawn, food kiosks, tables and chairs, and even a carousel, all nestled between Fifth and Sixth avenues and bordered on the eastern boundary by the library.

“This is so lovely. Why didn't we eat lunch here sooner?” Regina asked. It
was
lovely—and would be even more lovely if the metal chair didn't hurt her still-tender ass.

“It used to be a gem. Now it's overrun by tourists because of all the nonsense. Film festivals. The years when Fashion Week had been held here. You name it. I used to consider it part of the library itself but not anymore. Although, you know, this park sits entirely over underground archives.”

“Library archives? No way.”

“Yes,” Margaret nodded, opening her container of fruit salad. “We started running out of shelf space in the 1980s—even after moving many collections to other buildings. So the solution was to create thousands of square feet of new stack space underneath this park. It's connected to the library building by a sixty-two-foot-long tunnel.”

“Amazing!” Regina said, looking around. “And that carousel is so charming.”

“Really? I still can't get used to it.”

“It's new?”

“Yes. They built it about a decade ago.” Margaret's eyes narrowed. “Interesting necklace,” she said, looking at Regina's padlock.

“Oh, thanks,” Regina said, her hand fluttering to cover it self-consciously.

“Sloan used to wear one just like it,” Margaret said.

Regina looked at her, stunned. When she was able to find her voice, she nearly stammered. “I've never seen her wear it.”

“I haven't seen it in a while myself. But she used to wear it every day. Then she stopped.”

Regina busied herself uncapping her bottle of water, her head down so that her hair would cover her burning face.

“Are you all right?” Margaret asked.

“Yes . . . it's just hot out. Maybe tuna wasn't the best idea. I'm sorry.”

“Regina, tell me what's going on.”

Regina hesitated for a minute, but the pain of what she was thinking was too much to keep to herself.

“I've been . . . seeing someone,” she said slowly. Margaret nodded encouragingly. “And he gave me this necklace. It has significance to him—to us. And he knows Sloan, too, so the fact that she used to wear this same necklace can't be a coincidence.”

“Sloan is engaged to be married. Are you saying you think she's seeing your fellow also?”

The thought made Regina's stomach lurch. “No, not now. God, no. But at some point, maybe.” She stood up, feeling dizzy from the heat, her sudden movement, and the excruciating images running through her mind. “I need to talk to him,” she said.

“Regina, everyone has a past. That's hard for you to understand at your age, maybe, but you have to put this in perspective. If it's even true.”

“Fine, maybe so. But I shouldn't learn about it like this. He should have told me. Isn't that how relationships are supposed to work? You talk about things?”

Margaret nodded, conceding the point. “But Regina, if I may: get the facts before you act out of emotion. As women, we often forget how important it is to do this. And then we do and say things we come to regret.”

“If what I'm thinking is true—and it feels like it is—then the only thing I'll regret is getting into this situation in the first place,” Regina said.

CHAPTER 28

At six thirty, Regina slipped her key card into Room 2020 of the Four Seasons. But tonight, that would be the only one of Sebastian's directions she would follow.

Inside, the frosty air-conditioned air made her shiver. She closed the door behind her.

“Hello?” she called, walking into the living room. Flowers covered nearly every surface—roses, orchids, calla lilies—all in cut-crystal vases.

For once, there was no assistant/dressing maid waiting in the wings, and this was a relief. Maybe Sebastian assumed she could dress herself by now.

She tossed her Chanel bag on the cherry entrance banquette, and peeked into the bedroom. The king-size bed was laden with shopping bags and boxes tied with bows of every color. Regina turned around and walked back into the living room.

She sat on a suede armchair, tapping her foot with pent-up agitation.

It was all starting to make sense now. Sloan snatching the gallery invitation out of her hands. The way she looked at Sebastian during the meetings, and how she grew less and less tolerant of any attention Sebastian showed to Regina. It was clear that not only had there been something between them, but fiancé or not, Sloan still obviously had feelings for him.

The door opened.

Sebastian walked in and was clearly startled to find her sitting in the middle of the room. The surprise on his face was probably the first unguarded moment Regina had ever seen of him, and under different circumstances this might have endeared him to her even more. But not now.

“Why aren't you dressed?” he asked, more alarmed than irritated. Clearly, he was savvy enough to know that something was wrong.

“I
am
dressed,” she said, standing up and crossing the room to stand in front of him. “And I'm leaving. I just wanted to give you this.”

She pressed the necklace into his hand. He looked down at it as if seeing it for the first time.

“I don't understand,” he said.

“No, I'm the one who didn't understand. I didn't realize this necklace was just part of the territory for the female library employees.”

His eyes flickered with comprehension, but just as quickly turned to a cool, neutral stare.

“I doubt any of your coworkers at the Delivery Desk are wearing that necklace,” he said.

“Oh, didn't you hear? I'm not at the Delivery Desk anymore. I've been demoted—to the Returns Desk. Seems my boss isn't too happy with me these days. Do you have any idea why that might be?”

“It seems
you
do. So why don't you just say what's on your mind, Regina?”

“Why didn't you tell me you slept with my boss?”

“I don't discuss former lovers. And it was a long time ago.”

“Damn it, Sebastian! I can't believe this. I feel so stupid.” She felt tears in her eyes, and she turned away so he wouldn't see them. “We were in bed talking for hours last night—and yet somehow you never thought to mention this?”

“It has absolutely nothing to do with you, Regina,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. She didn't turn around, but instead kept her eyes on the windows overlooking Midtown.

“It doesn't feel that way,” she said.

“It was a long time ago, Regina. And it was short-lived.”

“Were you in love with her?” she asked quietly.

“I've never been in love, Regina. That's not what any of this is about.”

The tears came more quickly now, faster than she could wipe them away. Her body started to shake with the effort not to cry.

She grabbed her bag and walked past him out the door.

•

Carly's couch was littered with crumpled and soggy tissues.

“I'm sorry,” Regina sobbed. “I'm making a mess.” She pulled the final tissue out of a box of Kleenex.

Carly walked to the hall closet, then returned and handed her a fresh box. “You just need to put this in perspective. What did I tell you from the beginning? Have fun with it and take it for what it's worth. Look, you got some great clothes out of the gig. And jewelry. I can't believe you gave that necklace back!”

Regina shook her head. “I can't have ‘fun' if there's nothing there—if it's meaningless. Can I ask you something? What happened with you and the guy you really liked? Rob?”

“Oh, that.” Carly unclipped her hair, then twisted it and clipped it back up again before she spoke. “He didn't want to be in an ‘exclusive' relationship. Okay, whatever. I was upset about it, but then figured the best way to deal with it was to stay busy.”

“With other guys.”

“Well, yeah. It kept my mind off him. And it kept me from being too needy. I didn't wonder where he was and what he was doing when I was with other guys. At least, not as much as I would have if I'd been sitting home alone. But then he found out about Derek, and about this other guy, and he got all pissy about it.”

“But he knew you were seeing other people?” Regina chose to be euphemistic, rather than saying, But he knew you were sleeping with a different guy every week.

“He knew I could, in theory, see other people—that's the way he wanted it. But when he realized I was actually doing it, he freaked. Even though he was totally banging this girl Amanda Donovan whom my friend Sherry knows from Spence.”

“That's hypocritical,” Regina conceded.

“Totally! Men can dish it out, but they can't take it. So he freaked and told me it was over.”

The downstairs intercom buzzed.

“Did you order food? Because I'm starving,” Carly said.

“No,” Regina said, “I didn't order anything.” And then, realizing it was probably Sebastian, quickly said, “Just ignore it.”

Carly nodded slowly, following her train of thought.

“So . . . you're not here?” she asked, walking to the intercom.

“That's right: I'm not here,” Regina said. “In fact, neither one of us is here.”

Carly gave her a thumbs-up and turned away from the intercom. She sat back on the couch.

In a few moments, they heard a knock on the door.

Regina and Carly looked at each other.

W-T-F? Carly mouthed.

“Someone buzzed him in,” Regina whispered.

“I know you're in there, Regina,” Sebastian called out from the hallway. His voice was loud but calm.

Regina ducked beneath the dining table.

“What the hell are you doing? Does he have X-ray vision? Just go into your room. I'll tell him you're sleeping.”

Regina scurried to her room and closed the door. Then she leaned her head against it, her right ear flush against the wood.

She could barely hear anything from the front of the apartment. Damn that sturdy, prewar construction.

A sharp rap on the other side of the door made her jump back.

“Regina, I'm not leaving until you talk to me.”

Damn that pushover roommate!

She opened the door to her bedroom. Sebastian breezed in as if he had been there dozens of times. Apparently, she was the only one rendered nonplussed to see him in her apartment. It felt like a waking dream.

He closed the door behind him, and she steadied herself by sitting on the twin bed.

“This place is tiny,” he said.

She nodded.

“Regina, listen to me: the thing with Sloan was a while ago. Now she's engaged to be married—you know that.”

She nodded. “I guess I thought . . . for me, this is so intense. I thought it was special, I guess. I didn't know you just do it with everyone.”

The thought of Sloan's being in his apartment, of his binding her, of his touching her naked body . . . of
her
touching
him
 . . . she felt sick.

She stood up and turned away from him. He put his hands on her shoulders and gently steered her back to the bed so that they were sitting side by side. He kept his arm around her.

“Regina, the way we are together—the things that I've introduced you to—it's not unique to us. It's the way I am sexually. And I've known other people . . . women, who are the same way. There's somewhat of a community,” he said.

“A community,” she repeated.

“Yes, for lack of a better word. And I met Sloan through a friend who knew she was into it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, not every woman I'm with is someone I introduce to this. I have met women who know their role as a sub, they have their set limits, and we fall into an easy pattern that works for us both.”

“
Sloan?”
Regina tried to envision her domineering, arrogant, bitchy boss playing the submissive in the bedroom. Regina could only imagine her brandishing the whip, not bending over for it.

“Yes. We met through a mutual acquaintance, we had our fun, and afterward we remained friends.”

“Friends,” Regina said numbly.

“Yes. I think being around me, seeing my interest in the library, made her go for the job.”

Regina could barely process the information. It was like looking at her entire New York life through a kaleidoscope that changed everything into a million fragments of color.

“She took the job because of you,” Regina said.

“No, not because of me. She was looking for something to do after her position at Ralph Lauren got eliminated. I knew they needed someone at the library. . . .”

“Well, that explains a lot,” said Regina. Sebastian didn't take the bait, though if he had, she would have said that it was obvious that Sloan didn't care about books or the library—that she was just passing time until her wedding, or something else, came along.

And then another thought came to her, a painful one that prompted her to ask a question she really didn't want to know the answer to.

“Did you ever photograph her?” Regina asked quietly. Sebastian looked her directly in the eyes.

“Yes,” he said. She winced, as if struck. So they had done something that she, Regina, had not—could not—do with him. Their physical relationship might be in the past, but Sloan would always have that over her. She knew, even as she was thinking this, even as she was suffering over it, that it was irrational. But she couldn't help it.

“Did you fuck her in the ass?” she asked.

“Don't say things like that. It doesn't sound right coming from you.”

“Did you?”

“No,” he said.

She felt relieved. And that's when she realized this whole thing could never be “just fun.” She wasn't capable of that.

“Regina, listen to me: I've been photographing women since I was seventeen years old. I've been sleeping with women since I was fifteen. I've had countless lovers—some just regular, some whom I met through the BDSM world, where it's more . . . involved. But I've never had with someone what I feel when I'm with you. I've never introduced someone into that world before.”

“Why not?”

“I didn't want to. And at first, when I saw you, I didn't plan on it with you. I thought you were beautiful and seemed a little lost, and, not to be crass, but I had this urge to have you as a conquest. But then when I talked to you that day after the Young Lions meeting, I knew I wouldn't be satisfied with that.”

She was breathing fast, and she felt as if the tears would come again.

“So, now what?” she asked.

“So, now you come back to the Four Seasons with me and we continue with our night.”

She stood up and walked to her dresser, fidgeting with a hair clip.

“I mean, where does all of this go? My boss gets more and more resentful of me at work, so that's a mess. Okay, and so you and I do more and more stuff physically, until some new conquest catches your eye—and then I'm just . . . wrecked.”

“Regina, where is all of this coming from? Are things really that bad at work? I'll talk to Sloan.”

“No!” she said, turning around. “Don't. Don't do anything.”

“Sloan is just a friend. I haven't been with another woman since our first night together.”

“You haven't?” The truth was, she was so naive that the thought of his seeing other women while seeing her hadn't even crossed her mind.

“No,” he said, as if amazed by the fact. “I can't—I don't want to be seeing anyone else. And that's never happened to me before,” he said. “Don't you feel how focused I am on you? So no, the mechanics of what we do in my apartment—in that room—aren't unique to us. But the way I feel about you is.”

Regina nodded, trying to process everything he was saying and to reconcile it with her own doubts and anxiety. And as much as she wanted to do as he suggested—just leave with him and carry on with their night—she couldn't.

“I think you need to go,” she said.

“Why?”

“I can't do this anymore,” she said, starting to cry softly.

“Regina,” he said, “you don't have to ‘do' anything. But I'm not leaving.”

She looked at him, startled. His jaw was set, but his eyes looked at her with tenderness.

“I'm not inviting you to stay,” she said.

“Okay, I'm
asking
you if I can stay. We don't even have to talk if you don't want to.” He offered her a hesitant smile. She resisted the impulse to smile back.

“I do want to talk,” she said. “But I want to talk about things that are real. This thing with Sloan—it makes me wonder how much else I don't know about you.”

“Regina, this is what you need to know about me: I am completely, utterly infatuated with you.”

She couldn't help but crack a small smile—a
very
small one. “Infatuated? I don't think I've ever heard someone actually use that word.”

“I don't know what else to call it,” he said. “Usually, I manage to keep my life very compartmentalized. I have my work and my friends, and I have my sexual outlets. Sex is just sex. But with you, it's different. I think about you all the time. I was trying to shoot a woman for work the other day, and all I could think was, If I were shooting Regina, I would do it in black and white, and I'd have her hair pulled back so her big eyes would dominate the frame. I can't wait to get to the library meetings just to see you across the conference room table. You're always with me, Regina. And I keep thinking, If I just fuck you one more time, or do one more thing with you, it will satisfy me. But I never get enough of you.”