Page 275 of Hell Hath No Fury
“Yes…no. Give me the bottle.” She cups her fingers vigorously indicating the urgency for more booze.
“Are you okay?” Sitting cautiously, I’m watching her watch me, sipping directly from the neck of the bottle, which is a mistake as the bubbles rush out too fast to drink down. She chokes, and I take the bottle from her, pour a quarter glass and hand it to her.
“Processing.”
I find myself hugging the bottle and holding my breath. When she continues to stare, I decide to help her out. She’s a good person and probably doesn’t want to hurt my feelings. “I understand if you want to leave. I’ll call a cab. I’d rather you were still okay with Petal playing with Roman. You know how close they are, but I understand if you’d rather keep your distance.”
Her voice is loud and pitched high enough to shatter glass. I jump back with shock. “What? Why would I…no…no, that’s not what I’m processing. How could you even…” She waves off the notion as if my confession was nothing.
Leaning closer I do the same since she’s lowered her volume to a whisper. “You think Stephanie knows?”
“Um, I hadn’t—Sorry, back up. Mary, are you saying you’re okay with what I just told you?”
“Sam, I’ve always thought you were unique; I just didn’t know why. Now I do.” She shrugs.
“I’m not the only dominatrix.”
“But you did say you were the best.” She tips a knowing one-finger salute and winks.
“True…” I match her shrug and am surprised by the enormous sense of relief washing over me. When you spend a good part of your life being wrongly judged it becomes a default assumption that everyone is the same. It’s something of a pleasant shock when that isn’t the case. It’s rare; still, if this time of year proves anything, it’s that miracles do happen.
“We’re friends, Sam, like you said, good friends, and that means something to me. I don’t care what you did, do, and miss doing. It’s none of my business, and it’s none of hers. It doesn’t make you a bad parent, and it shouldn’t impact on Roman’s schooling.”
“It shouldn’t. You think it has?” She nods slowly, arching a knowing brow. “Fuck!”
“Yeah.” She sips her drink and looks over the edge of her glass at me. I recognise the expression and brace myself.
“I do have one question, and you don’t have to answer.”
“I thought you did. Fire away.”
“You said you thought Edward was a client?” She stiffens, and I can see she’s physically trying to hold herself together. I reach over and take her hand.
“I won’t lie to you, Mary. I’ll tell you what I remember. He was a client of the club, not one of mine. Not a regular, for sure, but I may have filled in at one time or two. I can’t be positive, I would have to check, but the name rings a bell.”
“And Marcus?”
“Edward said he went there for sex?” I ask
“Yes.”
“Then no. I never fucked a client. I never fucked at the club—period—until Jason,” I clarify.
“Okay.”
“I’m so sorry, Mary.” I squeeze her hand, and she lets me pull her into an embrace. I can feel her tremble. There’re no tears; these are rage shakes of betrayal. “I’m sorry Marcus did this to you, and I’m sorry Edward turned out to be a douche.”
“Yeah, men suck.” Her trembles turn to chuckles.
“And sometimes you don’t even have to ask.” I joke, and we both fall into an alcohol-induced fit of giggles.
“Are we celebrating?” Jason steps into the kitchen, with Madi strapped to his chest and his big puffy coat buttoned around her. Only the top of her bobble hat is any indication my husband is carrying his daughter and not simply morbidly obese.
“Commiserating.” We both stand and walk over to Jason and Will. I help Jason out of his coat.
“With champagne?”
“Of course.” Mary raises her glass, grinning. Jason leans over to kiss her cheek.
