Filthy Dirty Laundry (Filthy Dirty Laundry #1) (8 page)

Chapter 13

          I run out into the
street. Like a crazy person, I think. I'm probably the only
non-multi-millionaire on this street. I probably look like a hooker, I think. A
call girl hired for the night, doing the walk of shame in this stupid too-short
dress. Everyone who sees me is probably thinking the same thing:
stupid
whore.

         
I'm flush, crying, as I call
Kiley. I can't call Johnson now. Something in me stops me from taking that
crucial step. I don't know why. We've been best friends for years. But somehow
I can't let him see me like this. There's a darkness to Johnson, a possessive
streak, I don't touch. He'd rush into Philip LaFleur's apartment and beat the
shit out of him for having dared to touch me. For having taken advantage of me.
But I'm not sure how I feel about what happened.
Was
I taken advantage
of? Did I
want
to be taken advantage of? Was everything that felt so
wrong also, in a sense that goes beyond flesh and into the deepest and most
primordial parts of desire,
right?
My body had been awakened to all
sorts of sensations, desires, needs, hungers, cravings I didn't know I had. And
there's something freeing about that feeling. About knowing that my body is
more than...a receptacle for other people's desires. A picture on whom men can
project their longings.

My whole life, even the men who
wanted me felt like they just wanted...an image of me. They wanted to get their
pleasure out of me: like I was some sort of box holding galleons of treasure
and they wanted to horde it for themselves. My sexual experiences, limited
though they were, were all about feeling like I was giving something to someone
else. Like I was doing it
for them
– like it was a favor or something.
Maybe because I liked them. Maybe because I just wanted to be polite, I don't
know. But being with Philip, despite the power differential, despite the
wrongness, turned me on in unimaginable ways. Made me conscious of what I
wanted to do. Made me conscious of myself, my body, my needs.

          “Kiley,” I wheeze into
the phone. “I need you to pick me up...now.”

          “Are you okay?” She
sounds dazed. I feel like shit calling her – she's probably just gone to bed,
given the nature of her jobs, which are all night shifts.

          “N-n-o...” I admit.
“I'm not. I'm texting you my GPS coordinates right now. It's an emergency. I'm
so sorry, Kiley.”

          “Not a problem,” she
says. “I'm always there when you need me, Sid, you know that.”

          I wait in the hot sun
for thirty minutes before Kiley turns up in her beat-up old car. Her face is
full of worry and concern.

          “Jesus, Sid, what
happened? Your hair...it's a mess.” She looks really worried about me. She can
see my face, the tears in my eyes. “I brought coconut water for the hangover. I
thought you might need it...”

          I grab the bottle and
drink it greedily. My body is desperate for hydration after the night I've had.
I feel like a sponge again, soaking up the moisture.

          “I was so stupid...” I
let the tears fall. “I can't believe how stupid I was. I got drunk at my boss's
place...”

          “Your boss? You mean
Philip LaFleur?” She opens the car door for me.

          “Yeah....”

          “So, you weren't at a nightclub,
then?” She nods. “I thought you might be with him. Something about the way you
talked about him...it sounded like there was something going on.”

          “Something's going on,”
I admit. “But...I'm not sure what. Like – he's my boss. And he's always ordering
me around. And he ordered me to come to see him today – and I knew it was a sex
thing. At least, partially. But...this sounds so weird, so gross...”

          “I don't judge, Sid,”
says Kiley. “You know all about my sexual history. I don't judge anyone's weird
kinks. Safe, sane, and consensual, that's how I roll.”

          “It kind of turned me
on,” I admit. “The controlling stuff. The
you must come to my house at six
p.m. Sharp.
Stuff. I don't know...if I asked him to stop, I'm pretty sure
he would stop. But the problem is...I am not sure I want him to stop.”

          “What happened last
night?” she asks me.

          “He got me drunk. Told
me how he wanted me. How he wanted to...control me. Make me submit.”

          “And?”

          “Nothing happened. We
made dinner. Cuddled a bit. He put his hand on my shoulder, kissed my neck. But
he didn't even kiss me on the mouth. And we didn't even...”

          “So you didn't have
sex?” Kiley looks confused. “A player like Philip – and he didn't even try to
kiss you or anything?”

          “It was like he was
getting off on the tension or something...how much we wanted each other. But he
wasn't acting on it. Not yet...and it just made me want him more. And then I
drank too much and I fell asleep on his sofa and suddenly I wake up and he's
naked and this enormous rock-hard cock is in my face, and...”

          “Oh my God...” Kiley
looks horrified. “He didn't...”

          “No! He didn't...we
didn't....apparently he sleeps naked. And I don't know what came over me. I saw
his cock. And it was just so big and – I don't know. I touched it. And he woke
up and smiled and started flirting with me and it was all so surreal and weird
that I just kind of freaked out. I ran....I feel like an idiot.”

          “It's his fault!”
Kiley's voice is defensive, possessive. “Sleeping naked around his underling.
You should get his ass fired...”

          “I
should,”
I
say. “But somehow...it feels like we're in some sort of weird game. Like this
is all part of the game we're playing together. Like he knows it's what I want.
And I know it's what he wants. Or I thought I did. He probably thinks I'm some
sort of moron pervert...”

          “He's the moron
pervert, not you! Sleeping naked like that. Having you over.”

          “But when I saw his
cock, I wasn't freaked out...” I'm admitting my deepest, darkest thoughts. “I
just remember wondering...if it would hurt. Inside me. Or if it would feel
good...”

          Kiley's smile is
wistful. “You've got it bad, girl,” she says. “I don't know what to tell you.
This sounds super sketchy – but also a little hot…like, if you're into it, more
power to you I guess.”

          “I'm a virgin, Kiley. I
don't know this stuff.”

          “You're scared?”

          “Of the big things,
like him being my boss. And of...him hurting me.”

          “Because you're a
virgin?”

          “Because he's
huge
!”
I clap my hands over my mouth. I can't believe how graphically I'm talking here.
“I mean – any girl...when they're with someone like that.”

          “Quite the opposite,”
Kiley says. “Speaking from experience, it's all about the angles and
the...technique. No cock's too big if you get the angles right. And once you
learn to...loosen up and relax, that particular sensation of being filled up is
the best part of sex. In my opinion. Just make sure you're...ready for it. Make
sure he gets you wet, in other terms.”

          “Oh,” I laugh
nervously. This is definitely not the sex-ed class I had in middle school.
“You'd think I'd know all this stuff already.”

          “Your waiting thing...”
Kiley says. “It's smart. Teenage boys and college students don't know what
they're doing. All you missed was a bunch of limp dicks and sad blowjobs. Wait
for Mr. Right – or at least, Mr. Experienced. No losers for you.”

          “My whole life,” I say.
“I saw my mom go through men like tissues. None of them stayed. None of them
mattered. I just don't want that for myself.”

          “Maybe your whole
romantic thing might just work out,” says Kiley. “Look at me. I have a great
time at night, but the next morning...I couldn't care less about most of the
guys I fuck. Sometimes I wonder if I don't want a serious relationship instead.
But you and this guy – be careful. But don't be ashamed. You need to learn to
be confident sexually. To be okay wanting what you want. You don't have to feel
embarrassed or ashamed. I may not have romance in my life, but I am completely
comfortable with my body. And that's a gift, too. Even if I don't have a Mr.
Right in my life, I know how to avoid Mr. Wrongs.”

          “So, I just have to get
over what happened with Phil? I shouldn't be embarrassed?”

          We pull up to our
apartment. We walk up the six flights of stairs. How different the place seems
after my night at Phil's! It looks smaller, dirtier, messier, sketchier than
before. His gorgeous, minimalist villa makes this place look even more like a
dump by comparison.

          “If anyone should be
embarrassed,” says Kiley, “it's him.”

          “Well, I'm not going to
let him embarrass me any longer,” I say. “I've got a dog food story to get –
and I'm going to get the best damn story imaginable.”

          “Good for you,” Kiley
grins. “I'm proud of you, girl. Don't let
any
man get between you and
your career goals.”

          “I wouldn't say Missy
Amy's dog's preferred kibble is a career goal.”

          Kiley laughs. “Baby
steps, Ace. Remember that. Baby steps.”

          I change into more
comfortable clothes. Clothes that belong to my old self. Loose jeans. Trainers.
A tank top.

          “Speaking of which...”
Kiley says as I come back out. “I have some gossip for you that might help. I
made friends with another bartender on my shift last night. Turns out, she goes
to yoga with Amy's dog trainer. And she just texted me the details. There's a
class on in an hour. The trainer's name is Simone – she's blonde with tattoos –
my friend Sarah just texted a photo. Make friends with her and you can get the
scoop you need.”

          I grin. Kiley really
does think of everything.

          “Thanks, Kiley,” I say.

          “Anytime, girl,” she
says. “Now go get 'em, okay?”

          “Okay,” I say. Maybe
what happened wasn't so bad after all.

Chapter 14

I feel slightly better after
talking to Kiley. Her confidence in me makes me feel better about myself. After
all, I have nothing to be ashamed of, I think. Whatever it is that Philip
LaFleur wants from me, it's his problem, not mine. His behavior is so totally
out of the bounds of what is normal or appropriate that I can't be blamed for
being confused, messed around. I've never met anyone so strange in my life. He
wants to push the professional and personal envelopes, make me submit to his
desires even as he stokes the flames of my own. He wants something strange and
new: a whole new universe of my experience.

          I've never felt this
way before. As I look in the  mirror at my new self: no longer in the makeup
and perfect hair and pink bodycon dress I wore  last night, I find myself
meditating on how I used to look, how I look now. I'm wearing what might be
considered my “old” clothes. jeans, ready to meet Missy Amy's dog trainer with,
ready to practice my downward dog. A beat-up old tank top. A slick but simple
ponytail. The clothing of the person I used to be before my night with Philip
LaFleur. But as I stare into the mirror, I notice that there's something
different about me. My face, my eyes. I'm not sure what it is, but whatever it
is...I'm not the same person I was before. My eyes have more maturity in them:
a darkness and a hunger that is entirely new.

I look older. I'm not
twenty-three years old anymore, or if I am, then I'm a new kind of
twenty-three: an unexpected change that alters and reshapes all of my features.
My lips look redder, deeper, bolder. The expression on them is more sensual. My
cheekbones look sharper, more defined, as a result of the rosy blush that has
by now spread across my whole face.

          “Stop preening,” Kiley
teases me. “You know you're beautiful. Stop lording it over the rest of us.”

          “What are you talking
about?” I may be a lot of things, but I don't often feel beautiful. Beautiful
is for girls like Kiley – well-made-up, well-coiffed, confident girls. Not for
girls like me, who feel awkward in anything more than lip balm and mascara.

          “Come on, girl,” Kiley
rolls her eyes. “Get away from the mirror and go get that yoga story.” I grin
happily. I think I can do this. I'm going to get that dog story, impress
Philip, work my way up in the ranks...

          I bound down the
stairs. My feet feel lighter than air.
You can do this, Sidney,
I think
to myself.
You've got this under control.

         
Then I see him coming up the stairs.

          I stop short in
surprise. His sandy blonde hair is flopping over his forehead, but I can still
see the sweet, sure expression in his eyes, the gentle smile upon his lips that
is spreading into a grin the moment he sees me.

          “Johnson,” I breathe in
surprise. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

          “Yeah...” he says,
furrowing his brow. “I just thought I'd surprise you with a ride, that's all. I
know how tough things have been for you lately...I didn't want you to have to
walk or ride your bike after your accident.” He puts a protective hand on my
shoulder. “I'm worried about you, Sid. I don't want you hurting yourself again
so soon. After what that guy put you through.”

          I flush. I'm almost
embarrassed. It's like maybe he can see Philip on me or something – like
somehow maybe he
knows
what it is that happened, although I don't know
myself. I've never been embarrassed in front of Johnson before for any reason,
but now I feel my face flush hot. I've showered, and yet I almost half-wonder
if Johnson can smell Philip on me: that sensual and overwhelming musk that
makes me weak in the knees.

          “I should have come to
check on you earlier,” Johnson says. “I'm sorry. I wanted to come last night,
but I had a ridiculous deadline for this college football story and I had to
make it.”

          Oh God. What if Johnson
had come by last night to find me out? He would have...I don’t know, but
somehow I get the feeling that he wouldn't have been happy.

          I love Johnson with all
my heart, but sometimes the protective, possessive way he treats me feels a
little intense. It's sweet, at the best of times, but yet deep down I know that
if he heard I was out all night with another man, he wouldn't be happy. But
it's not a sex-thing, exactly. I mean, in all the time we've known each other
Johnson's never once made a move. I used to think he was gay. Or just asexual
or something. But there's always this weird tension in the air.

          “Need a ride to the
office?” Johnson asks me.

          “Oh,” I say. “Thanks,
but no thanks. I mean – I'm not going to the office.”

          Johnson's face falls.
He looks more disappointed than I expected. “Oh, okay. Is everything all
right?”

          “Yes, don't worry!” I
say. “It's nothing bad. I just have a source I heard about at Beverley Hills
Yoga. Missy Amy's dog trainer goes there and I need to figure out what brand of
dog food she likes.”

          “Oh yeah,” Johnson
makes a face. “I heard about that. I saw it on the story assignment board. I'm
going to take a wild guess and say that wasn't a story you pitched.”

          “However did you
guess?” I roll my eyes. “Still, I'm going to do the best damn dog story the
world has ever known.”

          Johnson lets out a big
groan and a laugh. “Oh Sidney,” he says. “I can't
believe
they assigned
you that story, but I have to say: I love the way you're just jumping right
into it. No gripes for you. You're always so cheerful and plucky. Definitely a
Girl Friday. No wonder everyone loves you.”

          “Not everyone,” I say,
thinking of Kendall.

          “Well, me in
particular.” He says it lightly, but there's a wistfulness to his voice. “So
let me help you. Give you a ride to yoga.”

          He walks downstairs and
we leave the apartment building together.

          “Wow.” My jaw drops as
I catch sight of Johnson's new car. It's a Mustang, shiny, vintage, electric
blue.

          Johnson's car
collection has been one of those weird things we never exactly talk about. It's
clearly his hobby, his passion. And it clearly costs a lot of money. But
Johnson never talks about his family, or where the cash to buy these cars came from.

          “You like how it
rides?” he grins at me.

          “Looks pretty sexy,” I
admit.

          He turns bright red. I
like seeing how happy he is, showing off his car. It seems like Johnson's never
so happy as he is when turning the key in the ignition of his new ride.

          “It's very cool,” I
say.

          “I know,” Johnson says
with pride. “Thank God my parents let me keep my cars at their place. They get
kind of annoyed, but they figure it's not drugs or booze, at least. And they
may be expensive, but I fix them up myself – sell them at a profit. The first
big profit I made on my first car, I took my mom on a trip to Tahiti. Now they
don't mind storing hem...”

          “If I were them, I'd
feel the same way,” I say. “I mean, they have the space, right?” Johnson's
family has an enormous house in Brentwood: bought with the proceeds of Johnson
and Sons Auto Dealership: one of the largest car dealerships in California.
Johnson's family might not be wildly wealthy like the LaFleurs, but they're
basically pretty well off. Not that Johnson would ever brag about it. Despite
all his money, he's never been one to flash it about – not like Philip. He
quietly pays for dinner when we go out, makes sure to give me cab fare when I'm
trying to get home after a late night, but mostly we go out to normal places:
dive bars, coffee shops, local restaurants. Nothing fancy or showy. Johnson's
much too humble for that.

          “My parents always love
you,” Johnson says. He glances my way and takes my hand, squeezing it tight. “You
should come 'round for dinner again sometime. They miss you. They practically want
to adopt you – as weird as that would be, us being siblings?”

          “Why?” I ask. After
all, it's like we're siblings already.

          Johnson turns a bright
beet red. “Because we're adults,” he stammers.

          “Okay.”

          Johnson drives me to
class. He pulls over in the parking lot.

          “Shoot!” I realize that
I haven't put on my yoga pants. “Johnson, I need to get changed in the back of
your car – is that okay?”

          “Uh...sure.”

          I go round the side and
get into the back seat, changing out of my jeans and into my yoga pants. I
catch a glimpse of Johnson's face in the rearview mirror. He's not...looking,
is he? Not Johnson – that would just be weird.

          “Okay,” I bound out of
the car. I'm all set for yoga now. Pants, tank, ponytail. The works. Now let's
hope I remember my downward dog. The last time I was in a yoga class it was to
spy on a Disney Channel star fresh out of rehab.

          “Good luck, Sid!”
Johnson beams at me. “You can do it.”

          “I wish I'd thought of
using Kiley as a source sooner,” I say. “It sure relieves a lot of stress
having someone like her as a roommate. She should be working this job, not me.”

          “Don't say that! You're
the best reporter I know.”

          “The LaFleurs aren't
going to bring me down,” I say. “I won't let them. Kendall thinks she can walk
over me. Well, I'll show her she's wrong.”

          “I know you will. I
have faith in you.”

          He gets out of the car
to high-five me.        

          “I'll be here when you
get back,” Johnson says.

          “You don't have to wait
for me,” I laugh. “You'll be late.”

          “Oh, Sidney,” Johnson
looks sad all of a sudden. “I would wait for you forever....”

          I'm so taken aback I
hardly know what to say. First checking me out in my panties, now these cryptic
statements. This isn't like the Johnson I know.

          “Oh, uh, okay...” I
stammer. “Um, thanks. Good to...uh...know...”

          His face falls.

          I want to stay, ask him
what he meant, say something to comfort him, but it's too late. It's time for
the Yoga Class to begin.

          “Uh, bye!” I say
awkwardly, and head to class.