Control (Songs of Submission #4)(3)

“Girl,” she said as we hugged, “where the hell have you been shopping? And what’s with the shoes?”

I tipped my foot to make the red sole visible. I wore the shoes I’d gotten at Barney’s more often than I should, but letting them sit at the bottom of my closet seemed a crime. Yvonne looked at me sidelong while she scooped ice cream. Her afro was teased to four times the size of her head, her eyes lined with gold, and her lips painted the exact chocolate color of her skin. She was simply gorgeous.

“You like them?” I asked.

“I know what they cost, so I know where you got them. So whether or not I like them depends.”

I sat down and ordered a green tea and a chocolaty cake thing. Aaron, in his striped shirt and overalls, sat with his mouth open. Vanilla ice cream dripped out of the corners of his mouth like he was a dairy vampire.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” she said. “Were you close?”

“She was like a sister to me.” I felt a little hitch in my throat, a sob pushing up from my gut. I swallowed it. I didn’t cry in public. In private, the past few days had been a rush of tears and beaten-back sorrow. “Anyway. It’s fine. I’m dealing with it. Still haven’t cleared out her room. But anyway… how’s school? It’s your last year, right?”

“Tryna get my thesis accepted. Thinking about doing gender instead of race. Something with women’s bodies and politics.”

“Sexual intersections.” My tea came.

“Oh, that’s good.” She scraped the bottom of the cup. “Now, I didn’t ask you to lunch to talk about UCLA.”

“The weather, then?”

“My boss? Your former boss? The hot motherf*cker? Six two? Medium build? Reddish brown up top… and down below?”

“Not in front of the baby.”

“I hear he’s a freak.” I spit my tea. “Well,” she continued, “word gets around. So…” She slithered in her chair. “What. The. Fuck?”

“Yvonne, really. Totally inappropriate.” I looked at her over my cup, wishing for a quick and painless death. I’d known she wanted to ask me about Jonathan, but I didn’t know she was aware of his proclivities.

“He’s really private about who he’s…” She stopped herself. “… who he’s spending time with. But we all saw your picture from the L.A. Mod show in the paper. And it was no secret at your friend’s wake.”

“I don’t know what you’d call us at this point,” I answered. Aaron made a long aaaaaahhh sound of pure delight. He kicked under the table and the silverware bounced. “He’s cute, this baby. You made him?”

“Me and that creep. Can’t deny he’s a good-looking creep.”

“Is he still stalking you?”

“Cops had to come last week. He put a camera at my bedroom window to watch me sleeping. Isn’t that sweet? Oh, and he got my bank account information ‘to put Aaron’s child support right in there’ to save me the trouble of going to the bank. I said, man, I hope narcissistic personality disorder isn’t genetic.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I called you so you could help me with a little escapism, and so far you’re a big fail.”

I knew she’d ask, and I had prepared boundaries, but she immediately broke them down by revealing the freak rumor. The thing was, I wanted to tell her. I had no one to talk to. Darren didn’t want to hear it. Gabby was dead. Debbie and Jonathan were friends. I knew some of my girlfriends better than Yvonne, but none of them had asked about the handsome man at my side at Gabby’s wake. They’d raised eyebrows and introduced themselves. I got phone calls, roundabout questions, and invites to parties and gatherings. I refused everyone but Yvonne, probably because she was very up front about demanding information.

“We’re having sex,” I said. “Tomorrow night, we have a date, which we haven’t done yet.”

She put a board book in front of Aaron and leaned toward me, folding her long, skinny arms. “You’re having sex? Who are you, grandma? Come on. I hear he’s into whips and chains.”

I pressed my lips between my teeth. I would have to deal with the rumors at some point. “I’ve never seen him hold or use a whip or a chain. Nor have I observed either one of those things in his house or his bedroom. However…” I let my voice trail off and sipped my tea, leading Yvonne along. “I won’t deny there may be some truth to those rumors.”

“Girl,” she said with no little excitement.

I shrugged, wanting to play it off, but Yvonne had come to dish. She wasn’t leaving with generalizations and vague admissions. “How is it?” she asked.

“It’s incredible.”

“Tell me.” Her whisper was hoarse with anticipation.

“I can’t,” I whispered back. “It’s not cinematic. It’s not exciting unless you’re in it. He speaks to me. He tells me what I want before I know it and before I can deny myself. I’m free with him, but not in the way you think.” I turned my teacup around in the saucer.

I stopped. I could have said more. I could have told her he dominated me, and I submitted by letting go of everything I expected of myself. I ceded all control, all emotion, all physical boundaries, and in doing so, I found sexual honesty. I felt closer to him than I felt to anyone else because he saw parts of me I didn’t. The quivering, weak, fearful parts that I denied existed, he brought out and caressed. Thinking about his demands made me want him again. I crossed my legs, convinced Yvonne wouldn’t understand.