Late in the afternoon, Cash was standing on stage in the middle of the massive stadium gazing up at the empty seats soon to be filled with tens of thousands of cheering fans. Though surrounded by busy bees, he was immune to their buzzing activity, lost in swirling thoughts and emotions. He had made it, his lifelong goal was about to be realized…
“Hey!”
Startled, Cash turned and saw Lenny striding towards him. The tall, lean body and cheerful demeanor reminded Cash of a Great Dane puppy and rarely failed to make him smile.
“Trippy, huh?” his drummer remarked.
“That’s an apt word,” Cash replied.
“Can’t believe we’re here. I still remember that night at that crappy club in Austin. You know what I’m talking about?”
“Of course. You’d just finished your drum solo and I said, ‘one day, Lenny, we’ll play at Texas Stadium.‘ Feels like yesterday,” Cash sighed, “and a lifetime ago.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Lenny agreed. “I kind of wish it was the old stadium, but, hey, I’m not complaining. This place is crazy.”
They stood silently, connected yet separate, battle-fed comrades in arms.
“About this girl,” Lenny said carefully, “seems like she’s different.”
Cash turned and looked at him. Though he and Lenny were like brothers, they rarely discussed their private lives, but word would have traveled through the inner circle that Cash had met someone, and that someone was why he’d not been on the plane with them flying out of New York.
“Yes, she’s different,” Cash replied.
“Is she here?”
“Yep. You’ll meet her after the show.”
“Sapphire Eyes? Is she Sapphire Eyes?”
“Yes, Len, she’s Sapphire Eyes.”
“Heard she sings like a lark,” Lenny continued.
“Don’t worry, Len,” Cash smiled, feeling Lenny’s insecurity. “The Cash Colt band will always be the Cash Colt band. Nothing will change that, but now that we’re here,” he declared, waving his arms towards the stands, “I’m not sure what’s next for us.”
“I know what you mean,” Lenny admitted. “It’s kind of weird.”
“It’s the journey, not the destination. I don’t know who said that but I kind of get it now,” Cash mused, his voice low and serious. “Can I ask you something personal, Len?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Don’t you ever think about settling down with Cheryl? Kids, maybe?”
Cheryl had been Lenny’s longtime, long-suffering girlfriend, faithfully waiting for him after every tour, always there, always with a cheery smile to welcome him home.
“Yeah, I guess. Just love the road, though.”
“But, do you love her?”
“Yeah, I guess. I mean, she’s like, comfortable,” he replied, staring at his feet, then lifting his head he looked back at his forever friend. “Yeah, I love her. Maybe I should think about it. Fuck, this is all so surreal.”
“We have to focus on the show,” Cash said briskly, attempting to snap them out of their somber mood. “This is the night, Len. We have to make it absolutely breathtaking.”
Lenny stared at him for a moment, then broke into a huge grin and ran to the microphone, still live from their soundcheck.
“HEY EVERYONE, WE’RE FUCKING HERE!” he bellowed, “THIS GIANT ARENA, WE ARE FUCKING HERE!”
The busy bees stopped and stared, then clapped and hooted, the groupies, the technicians, the myriad of workers who had traveled with them mile after mile, launched into their own chorus of exultation. Buoyed by Lenny’s declaration of triumph, Cash moved quickly to his side, taking the microphone from his hand.
“WE MADE IT!” he yelled, then paused, waiting for the whistles and applause to wane. “You guys,” he continued, “you who have been with us for years, putting up with the endless hotels, living out of suitcases, and let’s not forget, all those girls, girls, girls-”
“Thanks for that Cash!” an anonymous voice called out from the crowd.
“You’re welcome,” Cash laughed, “as I was saying, thank you, thank you. Without you the show couldn’t go on! It’s been a great tour, and now, here we are. Let’s make it the best show ever seen in a stadium!”
The applause resounded through the mammoth space, shouts of encouragement and assurances carried Cash out, as he and Lenny left the stage and headed for the dressing rooms.
“You off to do your thing now?” Lenny asked, knowing Cash spent at least an hour doing his martial arts exercises before every show.
“I am, and I’ll be in your dressing room at the appointed hour,” he promised.
It was the band ritual that they would all meet in Lenny’s dressing room ten minutes before taking the stage.
“Fuck this is weird,” Lenny said shaking his head.
“It’s going to be an incredible ninety minutes,” Cash said. “Catch you later, and try not to think too much.”
“You’re right. Later!”
Cash peeled off and walked briskly forward. Lenny was right, it was weird, but weird in a brilliant, fabulous way. He felt as if he’d been traveling down the yellow brick road and had just arrived at Emerald City, but Emerald City was the Stadium, and there was no lion, tin man or scarecrow, just the surprising, beautiful Becky; a magical end to the tour he could never have dreamed.
Hours later, after taking in the sights and having an early dinner, a stretch limo collected Becky, her father and Joan, and feeling like rock stars themselves, they laughed and joked as it carried them through the Dallas streets. When it approached the stadium, men with glowing orange sticks directed the car towards the assigned parking area for the luxury vehicles. When it rolled to a stop, a young man approached the driver’s window.
“Name?” he asked, studying a list on his clipboard.
“Turner,” the driver announced.
“Turner, hold on. Ah, yes, wait here, please.”
Moments later a burly fellow arrived at the car. He was dressed in a suit and tie, looked very serious, and had a wire running from under his collar into his ear.
“Welcome folks,” he said opening the door, his sombre face breaking into a surprisingly warm smile. “My name is Alan. If you’ll follow me, please.”
The small party of three climbed out of the car and fell into step behind him. He led them to a six-foot-high, wire mesh fence, where an intense looking guard opened a locked gate.
“Feel as if we’re going into enemy territory,” David remarked.
“Security is very tight, Sir,” Alan replied, and continuing to move briskly, entered a door into the stadium and turned down a wide, concrete corridor to an elevator. A few people were striding purposefully in each direction, but there wasn’t as much activity as Becky expected.
“I would have thought there’d be more people running around,” she commented.
“This is a highly restricted area,” her guide explained.
David and Joan shared a glance, and David grinned. In his former life as a Master Chef he had been in many ‘highly restricted areas,’ and he knew it was security-speak for VIP.
The elevator lifted them to the top floor, opening to a carpeted hallway with recessed lights, and photographs of famous football players and other celebrities gracing the walls. Stopping at a door, Alan knocked softly; it was opened by an attractive young woman wearing a white shirt and black skirt.
“The Turner party,” he declared, and stepping back added, “enjoy the show.”
“Welcome,” the young woman smiled, ushering them in. “My name is Victoria, and I’ll be your hostess for the evening. Please make yourselves comfortable. What would you like to drink?”
Becky scanned the sumptuous surroundings. Three rows of large leather chairs, strategically tiered, faced the stadium field. A wide screen television was perched at each corner, and at the back was a buffet table with gourmet treats delicately displayed, and a full bar behind it.
“Wow, this is something,” she breathed, moving to sit in the front row.
“Very elegant,” Joan remarked quietly, and Becky could see the small town woman was slightly overwhelmed by the opulent surroundings.
“I think we’re in for a very memorable night,” David grinned, sitting next to his daughter.
“I think,” Joan said softly, “that is quite an understatement.”
The sound of the door opening caused Becky to turn around, and she saw a tall, elegant attractive man walking towards them.
“Hi, Becky? Mr. Turner? I’m Sam Reed. Just wanted to pop in and introduce myself. We’ll all be at the party afterwards, but it will be bedlam,” he smiled, perching himself on the edge of the seat next to Joan.
“Mr. Reed, I’m just thrilled that you liked my singing,” Becky beamed, nervous but excited to meet the powerful manager.
“A pleasure, a real pleasure,” David replied, shaking Sam’s hand enthusiastically. “This is Joan Hancock, a long-time family friend.”
“Hi, Joan. Great to meet you. I assume you’ve not seen Cash in concert before tonight?”
“No,” David said quickly, “but I’ve been a huge fan for years. I think he’s more talented than Mick and Bon Jovi, many of the greats. His voice is like velvet and his songs-”
David’s praise was interrupted by a sharp chime from Sam’s phone.
“I do apologize,” Sam declared, standing up sharply, “duty calls. I’m afraid I have to dash. I do happen to agree with you, David. Cash is uniquely gifted. If you need anything just ask Victoria here. She knows how to reach me.”
“I’m sure you’re extremely busy,” David replied. “Thank you for taking the time to stop in.”
“You’re welcome. See you later,” and as Sam hurried from the room, a raven-haired, green-eyed beauty passed him and shared a quick, warm greeting. Heading to the seats, she introduced herself as Cheryl Hawkins, the drummer’s girlfriend.
“You must be friends of Cash. You’ll love the show. The drummer’s the best bit,” she laughed, and ordering a beer from the hostess, settled in behind them.
A few minutes later, an older woman dressed in tailored clothes and perfectly styled hair, entered the box and immediately hugged Cheryl, who happily introduced her; the woman was Cathy Stern, wife of Andrew Stern, the band’s road manager.
“Barely seen him for eight months,” Cathy declared, “but I was able to fly into some cities and spend some time with him. How are you Cheryl?”
“Great. Just glad the tour is finally over and Lenny will be home for a while.”
Becky stared down at the stage, pondering the short conversation. She hadn’t considered the love life of a rock star and what the lifestyle might mean. If she and Cash did end up together, would she be left alone for weeks, possibly months at a time? If she became successful and went out on tour, would she be leaving him?
As Becky was contemplating the heady questions, Sam was in the elevator heading to the ground floor, tapping his foot impatiently. He had instructed the staff at the will call window to notify him the moment Marilyn Sanders arrived, and to keep her waiting, but without causing too much of a delay. They had been the ones who had buzzed his phone, and he knew every second counted if he was to intercept the disobedient young woman before she entered the stadium.
Every show Sam held back several tickets to hand out to hopeful fans standing outside the doors. As a poverty-stricken, struggling young man who loved rock and roll, he could never afford the hefty prices, and would stand outside the venues to hear what he could.
On one such cold November night, at a small club in New York, the manager of the band he had been hoping to see, had stepped outside to get some air and a few minutes of quiet. Sam had been alone, hugging himself for warmth, and the manager had struck up a conversation. When he heard the reason Sam was there, he was so impressed by his fortitude and determination, he had taken him inside, put in the VIP room upstairs, and introduced him to the band after the show.
The stranger’s kindness, and the thrill of the unexpected offering, changed Sam’s life, and he had carried it forward at every opportunity. When he didn’t attend the concerts Andrew was his proxy. The ticket Marilyn was holding was one of those tickets, and he was going to use it to teach the spoiled young woman a lesson.
Running towards the will call window, he scanned the front of the lines, dismayed that there was no sign of her. He expected that she would have had a hissy fit if they’d kept her waiting too long, but he hadn’t expected her to arrive early; young women like Marilyn rarely arrived on time.
He began walking quickly, scouring the area, searching for her long blonde hair, and was just about to run back and enter the doors of the venue when he saw her marching towards one of the security gates. The little minx was going to try to worm her way backstage.
Trotting forward he reached her just as she was pulling out her wallet.
“How about $500?”
The beefy guard saw Sam approach, and immediately determined he was someone important. The badge around his neck boasted VIP status, and he was dressed to the nines.
“Uh, sorry, no I can’t help you,” he said gruffly, wishing the important man hadn’t shown up. He’d have been happy to take the bribe and would probably have been able to finagle a blow job as well.
“Fine, $750 then,” she pressed. “Please?”
Without a word Sam grabbed her elbow. She jumped, startled, then gasped when she looked up and saw Sam’s glowering eyes staring down at her.
“Sam, I can explain-”
He didn’t speak, but hustled her away from the gate, marching her back to the main area in front of the entrance yanking her to a stop.
“Ticket,” he snapped.
Marilyn felt the blood drain from her face as panic clutched her heart. Sam’s face was a mask, but she knew he was absolutely furious. Rifling through her black, quilted Chanel bag, she pulled out the envelope and handed it to him.
“Please, I-”
“Give me fifty dollars?”
“What?” she asked, puzzled by the request but reaching back in for her wallet.
He didn’t respond, just continued to glare at her as she searched through the notes.
“I, uh, I think I only have hundreds,” she stammered.
“Even better, quickly,” he insisted, holding out his hand.
Handing him the one-hundred dollar bill, she dropped her wallet back in her bag and fumbled nervously trying to close it up.
“Sam, why-”
Interrupting her, he gripped her upper arm and walked her forward, wandering through the open area in search of a deserving soul.
“Where are we-” she began, but he had abruptly stopped, and was staring at a young woman wearing a sweatshirt emblazoned with Cash Colt’s face. With Marilyn still firmly in his grasp he strode purposefully over, slowing as he approached.
“Stay right next to me,” he murmured, lowering his head. “Clear?”
Afraid to speak, Marilyn simply nodded her acquiescence. Sam was utterly intimidating, and she was filled with a fear completely unfamiliar. Dropping his hold, he smiled at the girl as they neared, and picked up the laminated badge hanging around his neck.
“Excuse me,” he said warmly, “my name is Sam Reed and I’m an official with this concert.”
The young woman stared at him, thinking she’d done something wrong.
“I’m sorry. Should I not be here? I was just-”
“Please, you’re fine here. Are you waiting for friends or looking to buy a ticket?”
“I couldn’t possibly afford a ticket,” she sighed. “I’m just hoping I might be able to hear something.”
“May I ask, what’s your name?”
“Allison. Allison Bennett.”
“Hello, Allison. Every concert I save a few tickets and come outside to give them away to deserving fans, and tonight you are that deserving fan.”
The young woman gazed at him in disbelief, a deer in headlights.
“Here you are, and here’s $100 so you can buy a program, or whatever else you want,” he smiled, stuffing the bill into the envelope.
“Whaaat? You’re kidding!” she exclaimed, feeling the threat of tears. “I can’t believe it. Is this for real?”
“Yes, this is for real, and after the concert is over go to the information booth by will call, give them your name and tell them to buzz Sam Reed. I’ll have someone bring you backstage, and you can meet Cash and have a drink at the after party.”
He could see the young woman was completely overwhelmed, almost to the point of tears.
“Are you all right?” he asked tenderly.
“I just don’t know what to say,” she managed. “I mean, thank you so, so much. Why are you being so kind to me?”
“Because, Allison, a long time ago someone was kind to me. I used to stand outside venues like you are now, hoping to hear the band, and a very nice man did for me, what I’m now doing for you. I’m passing it along. My only condition is that one day you do something nice for someone else.”
“I will, I swear,” she promised, and impetuously threw her arms around him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“You’re very welcome,” he grinned, gently extricating himself from her grateful embrace.
“Wow. This is awesome. Absolutely awesome. Thank you, thank you, thank you, again.”
“Better go in,” he suggested. “The opening band will be starting soon. Don’t forget, the information booth by the will call window.”
“I won’t, not in a million years,” she beamed, and breaking into a jog, headed off to enter the stadium.
Turning to Marilyn, he found her red-faced and wide-eyed, and she immediately dropped her gaze.
“Seat too far up in the stands for you?” he asked.
“Yes,” she mumbled. “I just thought if I could get backstage I’d have a better view of the show.”
“Where’s your car?”
“Over there,” she replied, pointing to the pool of stretch limos parked near the steel fencing.
“Come along,” he ordered, taking hold of her hand.
Shit, shit, shit. How did he even know I was here? Was this a total chance thing? Maybe he knows whoever dad called for my ticket. Shit, why didn’t I stay in New York?
But there was more swirling around her head than the simple fact that she’d been busted. The girl was haunting her. It would never have occurred to her to find some needy soul and give away the ticket she didn’t want. Her mind wandered back to the moment in Cash’s suite in New York when he’d done the same thing with the room service waiter.
Shit, shit, shit. Okay, Sam, I get it. I should be more, what, considerate? Unselfish?
“Which is yours?” he demanded, breaking into her self-admonishment, staring across the sea of black luxury sedans.
“Um, wow, ah, I’m not sure. I’ll text him,” she stammered.
As he waited, Andrew’s words were echoing through Sam’s mind. ‘You can’t spank her unless you fire her.’ There was little Sam wanted more than to burn the miscreant’s bottom. He was aching to put her across his knee and spank her silly, first with his hand, then a solid wooden paddle. He could already imagine the glowing redness-
“There!” she exclaimed, interrupting his thoughts as she pointed into the parking area full of limos.
Blinking himself out of the fantasy, he saw a man in a chauffeur’s hat waving his arm.
“Right,” he said sternly, taking her hand again and pulling her forward.
She wanted to snap at him, tell him not to yank her, but restrained herself. She was in enough trouble and didn’t need to make things worse, and as they approached the car, he didn’t wait for the driver, but grabbed the handle of the backseat door himself, jerking it open and tumbling Marilyn inside.
“You’re fired,” he exclaimed.
The driver was attempting not to stare, but it was impossible, and he felt embarrassed as Sam turned to him and handed him his business card along with a $20 bill.
“You heard me fire her, correct?”
“I certainly did,” the startled man replied.
“Do you have a card?”
“Yes, Sir,” the man replied, and reaching into his breast pocket retrieved a leather card holder. “Here you are, Sir.”
“Peter Townsend. Really? Like, The Who?” he grinned.
“My parents were big fans.” he smiled sheepishly. “It’s been a blessing and a curse.”
“I’m sure. Peter, does this car have a soundproof privacy panel?”
“Yes, Sir,”
“Excellent. Please drive around for a while. I need to have a very serious conversation with this young lady and voices might be raised.”
“Not to worry, Sir. She ordered a top-of-the-line car. It comes with everything,” he smiled, then dropping his voice he added, “including a discreet chauffeur.”
Peter Townsend had not been impressed with the young woman he’d picked up at the hotel. She was very beautiful, but she’d been cold, almost bordering on rude. It was no wonder this chap had fired her, and if she was about to get a song and dance lecture as a sendoff, he had no quarrel with that whatsoever.
“Excellent. If you wouldn’t mind waiting one moment,” Sam requested, “I need to make a quick call.”
“Of course not, Sir,” he smiled.
Moving a few steps away, Sam retrieved his phone and dialed Andrew, who, sounding harried, picked up immediately.
“I have something to deal with. You won’t be able to reach for me about thirty minutes, maybe less.”
“No problem,” the road manager replied. “Is everything okay?”
“It is now,” Sam answered, and dropping his phone back in his pocket he returned to the car.
“S-Sam,” Marilyn stammered as he climbed in next to her, “please, please don’t fire me. I’m so sorry.”
“Where are you staying?”
She stared at him, her heart was racing. She wanted the job, she wanted to learn the business, and more than anything else she wanted to be around him, but now he had asked a truly dreadful question, one she absolutely did not want to answer.
“You don’t need to see me back, I promise I’ll leave. I swear, right now.”
“I asked where you’re staying?” he repeated impatiently, ignoring her plea.
A whirring sound caused him to glance away, and he saw the privacy panel slide into place. The chauffeur had done the small task for him, and the car began to roll slowly forward.
“You’ll be mad,” she whimpered.
Turning back to her, he saw the promise of tears in her eyes
“I’m already mad,” he replied tersely, “but let me guess, The Joule.”
She nodded and dropped her head, feeling utterly and completely foolish. “To be honest I was hoping I might run into you, and I was also hoping I wouldn’t,” she mumbled.
“What about Cash? What if you’d run into him?” he asked sternly.
“I wouldn’t have caused any trouble, honestly. Please give me another chance.”
“In my short experience with you, Marilyn, when you’re drinking, what little self-control you possess simply flies out the window. How do you know you wouldn’t have caused any trouble?”
Blushing furiously, Marilyn cringed and stared down at her fidgeting hands. Rarely was she speechless, but what Sam had said was true. When she was drinking she became a completely different person; fearless, no caution, didn’t care what anyone thought or said.
The car had made its way out of the stadium and was moving through the surrounding streets. Sam reached across and grabbed her bag.
“What are you looking for?” she whimpered.
“Your hairbrush.”
A cold chill shivered down her spine. He was about to tan her bottom.
“Ah, here it is,” he declared, pulling the expensive, oval wooden brush from her bag. “Now then, Marilyn, what do you suppose I should do with this?”
She stared at him, afraid to speak, but in spite of her perilous dilemma her conniving mind slipped into gear.
Maybe if I agree to a spanking he’ll give me another chance. How do I put this? Have to be careful here.
“I’m waiting,” he growled.
“Sam,” she began carefully, “all you said was that I couldn’t go to the concert with you, you didn’t say I couldn’t go alone.”
“Who do you think you’re talking to?” he asked gruffly. “Your father? Some dumb-ass boyfriend who will find that absurd exercise in semantics, cute? You knew, without equivocation, when you boarded that plane to fly here, you were purposely and deliberately going against my wishes.”
Shit. Dad would have conceded my point, and my boyfriends? None of them would have told me what to do in the first place.
“So, back to the question at hand,” he continued sternly, though silently chuckling at his unintended pun, “what do you suppose would be an appropriate use of this hairbrush, and I want an answer right now.”
“Okay, Sam, you’re right,” she sighed. “I don’t know what gets into me. I’m really sorry. I am. Please believe me.”
“You still haven’t answered the question,” he declared, waving the hairbrush in front of her face.
“I guess I should be punished. I mean, I guess you should use that to spank me. You’re my boss and-”
“No!” he exclaimed, cutting her off. “I fired you, remember. I am no longer your boss. I am now your friend, a friend who sees you as a difficult woman needing some very strong correction.”
Shit. If I’m really fired, maybe I can use this as leverage…
“Um, if I agree to let you punish me will you give me a second chance? Let me come back to work?”
“I don’t know,” he replied.
It was an honest answer. He did want Marilyn under his thumb at his office, but he also wanted to whip her butt when she needed it. He couldn’t keep firing and hiring, or could he?
“Pleeeasse,” she begged. “I know I was wrong. I do!”
“No promises, none. You’ve got three-seconds to crawl over my lap. If you don’t you’ll never-”
“I’m crawling, I’m crawling,” she said hastily, not wanting to hear the words she knew would follow, ‘-see me again.’
To Sam’s delight, Marilyn had chosen to wear a black and white print sheath dress and black tights, much easier for him to deal with than tight jeans. In seconds he had the dress up around her waist, and her tights pulled down.
“No warm-up,” he warned.
“I don’t know what that means,” she whimpered, squirming on his lap.
“You’re about to find out,” he answered brusquely, immediately slapping the brush fiercely against her upturned backside.
“OWWW,” she wailed.
“Marilyn, you just earned yourself an additional swat. No more outbursts. You’re going to learn some self-control, and it will be your bottom that will pay the price if you don’t.”
“Okay, okay,” she whined.
“I’m going to spank you hard, my dear, very hard, and not just for this little stunt. You’re a spoiled brat, and that ‘something,’ as you call it, is a defiant child who is looking for consequences. She’s going to feel those consequences right now!”
“Oh, please, not too hard,” she begged, and even as she made her plea for mercy, she was overcome with an unfamiliar feeling of satisfaction.
This is weird-
A resounding smack landed directly on top of the first, and his threat fresh in her mind, she grit her teeth, stifling her squeal. A third and fourth fell, and she wriggled furiously as the fire burned through her flesh. The hard wood moved to her opposite check, landing four times in succession, matching its twin.
Sam paused, staring at the scarlet circles, smiling grimly.
“Remember, no yelling,” he warned, and raising the brush, began to rapidly swat her backside, undeterred by her gyrations and her gasps of pain. At least once in her life, Marilyn was going to experience a consequence for her defiant ways; a strong, unforgettable consequence. He had decided to spank her to tears.
He spanked and spanked, the hairbrush falling mercilessly across her backside, occasionally visiting the backs of her thighs. If she chose to walk away from his life, so be it, but if she stuck around, she needed to know he meant business.
“Do you understand what you did?” he asked, pausing for a moment.
“Oh, my God, it really hurts,” she protested.
He swatted her, hard, three times in quick succession on both cheeks.
“That wasn’t the answer to my question,” he said sternly.
“I disobeyed you,” she cried.
“SO much more than that. You put the final concert of an eight-month, grueling tour at risk. A night that Cash has worked for his entire life, a night that tens of thousands of people were looking forward to, was put in jeopardy because of your childish, immature, spoilt brat behavior.”
“How, how did I do that?” she wailed.
“Seriously? You need to ask? Cash’s focus needs to be on his performance, and what if he’d seen you getting drunk in the bar at the hotel, or running around backstage? Don’t you think he might have been a bit distracted after the crap you pulled?”
“Ooooh, I didn’t think about it,” she wailed.
“No, you didn’t, because you are self-absorbed, totally selfish, and completely indulged.”
“I’m sorry,” she cried. “Really.”
His hand rose and fell, and as he continued to spank her, she felt something rising up from her belly; a well of emotion, an unexpected hit of reality, and without warning she burst into tears, sobbing as the unrelenting brush continued to burn her bottom.
Dropping the implement beside him, he reigned his hand upon her crimson cheeks, adding his hot slaps to the scalded skin, listening to her cries of shame and anguish, then stopping abruptly, pulled her up to sit on his lap, wrapping his arms around her and letting her sob into his chest. Though he was a strict disciplinarian, he wasn’t without a heart, and those who knew him were aware that he possessed great sensitivity; he just didn’t wear it on his sleeve.
“I get it,” she stammered, weeping profusely. “I do, I really do.”
“I know, that’s why you’re crying,” he replied softly, stroking her hair.
“Everything you said is true. I’m just a selfish cow,” she sobbed. “I’m a terrible person.”
“No, you’re not a terrible person, not at all.”
He let her cry for a few minutes, then grabbing her bag, searched out a packet of tissues.
“Listen to me,” he said firmly, handing them to her. “Are you paying attention?”
“Yes, Sam, I am,” she promised, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose, “and I will from now on, I swear.”
He smiled. She meant it, but she would falter. One spanking did not change the behavior of twenty-something years.
“You’re going back to the hotel, packing your bag and checking out, and then you’re flying back to New York, on this flight,” he announced, pulling an economy class ticket from his breast pocket.
“What?” she asked, staring at him wide-eyed.
“How did you know I’d end up, I mean, we’d end up…?” her voice trailed off, unable to voice the many questions flashing through her mind.
“I didn’t,” he lied. “I just wanted to be prepared in case you came to your senses.”
Sam had predicted every move she’d made, though he hadn’t been 100% sure she’d see the light. It was one of the qualities that had made him so successful as a personal manager; the ability to see ahead and prepare for any eventuality.
“You have no appreciation for your immense good fortune,” he declared, “and before I even begin to consider any kind of relationship with you, professional or personal, you need to get real. You need to understand how people live, like that loyal fan, that unspoiled girl I gave that ticket to. You would have just thrown it away because it wasn’t good enough for you, right?”
“Yes, Sam,” she nodded. “I’m really ashamed about that.”
“So, cab to the airport, stand in line, sit in the back of the plane, cab back to your hotel in New York, and not a drop of alcohol. Not until I see you again. Believe me, Marilyn, I will know if you attempt to upgrade to first-class or call for a limo,” he warned. “I have eyes everywhere, and when I see you and ask if you’ve had a drink, I’ll know instantly if you lie to me.”
“I’ll do exactly what you said,” she promised, and wrapping her arms around him she kissed him on the neck. “Thank you, Sam,” she whispered. “It’s weird, but I feel like you really care about me.”
Sam hugged her tightly, feeling her sweetness, the soft, gentle girl who had been forced to share her body with a spoiled narcissist.
“Of course I care about you,” he whispered back, and as he heard himself say the words, he knew them to be true.