Chapter Eight

It was during Ever’s week long Christmas hiatus that Stroud first saw her apartment. Ever was no longer afraid of giving up the location, since Stroud already knew where she lived, but as she keyed the lock of the front door, she was suddenly self-conscious about the revelation to him of how she lived. They stood at the end of the long room which comprised the sitting and dining areas, not to mention the open, walk in closet beneath the stairs.

Ever was instantly aware of the age and simplicity of her furniture. Wall units crammed with note books, a couple of plants, a few treasured knick-knacks consisting of bits of wood, sea shells, small china figurines with no value or meaning to anyone but herself. The apartment itself, with second rate brown and gold flecked shag carpet and walls thoughtlessly painted a stark popcorn white, rather than the warmer Navaho white, like other rentals in the area.

“Not a fancy place,” she said. “It’s an old building, but pretty typical for this area.”

“It’s very cozy,” Stroud said. “Just the sort of environment I’d expect to find you in. It suits your needs, doesn’t it?”

“Well, yes. I admit there’s been a certain joy in the independence. It’s easy to maintain, although I wish I could let in more light. It’s not like the place I left...” she said and Stroud took it to be a reference to the separation from her husband.

“There are no pictures on the walls,” he remarked.

“No,” Ever said. “I guess I always assumed this was just a temporary thing. Stupid, really. I’ve been here for two years.”

“Will you show me the rest?”

“There isn’t much,” Ever said, leading the way between the closet and dining table toward the kitchen, which Stroud could already see through the empty door frame.

A tiny square vestibule divided the living room from the kitchen. Here were two doors – one to the left, which was the bathroom, and one to the right, Ever’s tiny bedroom. After a cursory glance into the kitchen and bathroom, Stroud stepped into the bedroom. He moved all the way in, skirting the black lacquered, metal frame bed. He stopped by the dresser in the far corner and turned to scan the entire layout.

Apart from the dresser and the bed, there were two natural rattan bedside tables, with drawers and enclosed cupboard space below, topped by a rather intriguing pair of black porcelain lamps with wicker shades that drew the whole collage nicely together. There was a minuscule built in closet with no door and, on the wall, a large cork board with dozens of strips cut from index cards pinned to it in meticulous rows. A brief study revealed it was a story board she probably used as a plotting aid for her writing. The brick and board shelves she’d constructed under the window by the bed were crammed with note books of varying sizes and colors. This writing of hers was everywhere.

On the top shelf, lovingly framed in cheap portrait frames, were photographs of two men, presumably cut from magazines. Striking looking men, apparently celebrities. One of them he recognized as a star in the music world.

“Are these heroes of yours?” he asked.

Ever laughed, blushing slightly. “Actually, one of them is. Very much so. I don’t really know the identity of other man.”

“Really?”

“They’re for inspiration. Character models. It’s easier to work from real faces.”

Stroud smiled. “I see,” he said and his eyes returned to the bed. “I like the arrangement in here. The black and wicker is an interesting combination. Did you pick it out?”

“Yes. It’s about the best I could do since the divorce.”

“It’s very you.”

Ever smiled shyly, viewing the whole thing with a new eye.

“Would you mind if we made some additions?” Stroud asked.

“Additions?”

***

Over the next couple of days, Stroud took Ever shopping. They went first to a hardware store where Stroud acquired an assortment of chains, locks, keys, threaded chain connectors and cotton rope.

He also took her to a bondage boutique downtown where Ever was obliged to stand and be fitted with an additional collar, a set of wrist and matching ankle manacles and a leather blindfold padded with sheepskin. He also picked out a black whip, similar to the one he had at home, and a small, thin bladed cat-o-nine-tails. This little cat looked innocuous enough but Ever soon discovered it was a harrowing instrument to endure across the tender flesh of her inner thighs.

Stroud made one other stop at a department store where he purchased an elegant, locking jewelry chest of polished wood, large enough to hold most of the other purchases he’d amassed. This way, he explained, should he decide to pay her a visit on a week night, he would not be ‘caught short’.

Ever was delighted with these acquisitions – if not a little intimidated. Now there was definitely no corner from which Stroud was excluded. There was even visual evidence in the living room in the form of eyebolts he’d screwed into the woodwork of the box beam that formed the dividing line between the living and dining areas. The chest was set up on the oak dresser in Ever’s bedroom. The key went on Stroud’s key ring.

***

For the New Year’s celebration, Stroud purchased tickets to a restaurant party with a lush buffet and a live band. They arrived early, securing a quiet, private booth in a semi-darkened corner. The band was good, without being abrasive, the crowd animated.

They dined, and danced, and returned to the table where every whim was liberally satisfied by a cheerful, attentive waiter. It was the party of the year.

Yet, as the evening progressed, Ever’s mood seemed to grow incongruent with the gaiety of the occasion.

Stroud gazed at her thoughtfully. “We’re dressed to the T’s, surrounded by good company, drinking excellent champagne but you look a little grim. Something wrong?”

“To tell the truth, I hate New Year’s.”

“So do I,” Stroud admitted, surprising her.

“Why?” she asked. “Do you know?”

Stroud’s eyes drifted out toward the gyrating dancers. “This used to be a favorite celebration of Francine’s and mine.”

“Francine?”

“My wife.”

“You’re divorced?”

“Widowed.”

“Oh, Stroud. How awful.”

There was a pause.

“It’s been five years,” Stroud said and turned back to her. “I should be over it by now.”

“How do you get over a thing like that?” Ever asked and Stroud was touched by her understanding. “What happened? Was she ill?”

“Car accident.”

“Sudden, then.”

“Very.”

Ever shook her head in sympathy. “It’s unbelievable, the way things happen sometimes.”

Stroud nodded. “It’s partly the reason I moved here. Distance myself...”

Ever sighed and nodded. “Would you prefer to leave? You can drop me off at home, if you’d rather be alone.”

Stroud gazed at her with a gentle smile. “That’s very generous of you,” he said, then his smile broadened, offsetting a sudden twinkle in his eyes. “But I would never consider it. Francine may be gone but you’re here and I know where I’d like to see you at midnight...”

They went back to Ever’s apartment, where Stroud made full use of the eyebolts he’d installed in the archway, as well as the manacles and whip. And, later, in bed, the equipment he’d purchased to bind Ever to it.

By midnight they were thoroughly disheveled, sitting up under crumpled sheets, drinking champagne from round bottomed glasses, quietly joyous and sated. The new year, perfectly turned.