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I stabbed one finger into the air. “Point one,” I said, “is that men have a limited knowledge of sex. Generally their education has come from barroom conversations with their co-workers and buddies, and from reading things like ‘Penthouse Letters’. They never made the effort to learn about women. When they were younger, the couple of ‘tricks’ they used in the bedroom worked, and since then they’ve served up the same thing over and over again. It’s all they know, and it’s all based around their pleasure. That’s not to say men don’t make an effort to please their wives, but the fact is that most men are interested in pleasing themselves. The things they do work for them, and they always have – or so they believe. Anything new – anything as exotic as BDSM sex-play is so totally foreign to most of them, they are too scared to try it. Because they might fail.
“Men believe they can’t possibly live up to their wife’s expectations, even though most wives would be happy simply if their man made an effort. The guy thinks it is far better to avoid making a fool of himself by failing, than it is to try the things his wife wants – because he knows he will probably never fulfill her fantasies. No matter how low women set the bar – no matter how little they ask for from their man, he will rarely rise to the challenge because it means learning new things that he is uncomfortable with, and because it means he is going to stumble and fall along the way. His ego can’t deal with that.”
I waited for a moment. Leticia was scribbling furiously to get the last of my words down into her notebook. She looked up. “That’s a broad generalization.”
I inclined my head. “Sure,” I admitted. “There are some men in the world who are experimenting with BDSM, because they understand how much it means to their wife. They are the exceptions to my rule. I take my hat off to those guys.”
For a moment I lost my train of thought, and I couldn’t remember why I was standing in the middle of the floor with a finger in the air. Leticia was looking at me expectantly.
“And your theory about women…?”
Ah. That was it.
“Women today are very different to the women of previous generations,” I said. “The gender roles have altered. A woman now sees herself as an independent person, strong, opinionated – equal to a man.”
“Right on, sister,” Leticia said dryly. She made a little fist and punched the air. Then she shook her head in wonder. “The great Jonah Noble sounding like a feminist? Readers won’t believe me.”
I smiled. “It’s a variation on ‘know thy enemy’,” I explained. “If a man understands the way a woman thinks, then both people in the relationship will be satisfied.”
Leticia stayed staring up at me for a moment longer, and then she hunched over her notepad and her hand began to race across the page.
“Because of a woman’s newfound independence, the days of Neanderthals have long passed. Women don’t want to be forced to their knees. They want to be made to feel weak at the knees. Husbands and lovers need to make the woman in their life feel conquered.”
Leticia looked up from her book and shot me a short, sharp speculative glance. “Conquered?”
“Yes,” I said. “Every woman who is aroused by submission is also aroused by an alpha male who can tame her. These women aren’t looking for a husband in the bedroom who will make them feel safe and loved. They already have that in their relationship. These women are looking for a man who is strong enough to conquer them. That way the woman can still feel vibrant and independent… but also feel comfortable submitting to their lover. That’s the turn-on for women. They don’t want to be submissives… they want to feel like they can’t resist submitting.”
* * *
I watched Tiny guide the big car out through the gates and then I pushed the front door quietly closed.
Trigg was standing in the foyer, her arms crossed, leaning against the wall.
“She’s falling for you,” Trigg said softly.
I glanced sharply at her. “You’re kidding.”
Trigg shook her head. “A woman knows,” she said mysteriously. “And she is suspicious of me. She is going to want to know more about us.”
“You’re an old friend who is having her house in the city remodeled. That’s the story. That’s how I want it. Leticia doesn’t need to know anything more than that,” my voice was cold so that it seemed my lips might be covered in frost.
Trigg made a small gesture of acquiescence and nodded her head. She stayed silent for another moment. “When she finds out – and she will find out, Jonah – she might hate you.”
I sighed. “I know,” I said softly. “But it won’t matter, will it? It will be too late by then.”
* * *
Leticia returned after dark. Tiny parked the car in the driveway and brought her in through the side door of the house. I was waiting for her.
She was dressed in a soft blue sweater and comfortable jeans. She had spent time on her hair and make-up. She glanced up at the night sky as she danced lightly up the steps, and then saw me and smiled.
I smiled back.
The storm had passed, but the weather had turned cold. The sky was heavy with dark rain clouds that hung close to the ground and blocked out any moonlight.
“Did you enjoy your day?”
She came in through the door and there was an awkward moment where I sensed her leaning towards me, as though to kiss my cheek. I flinched, and her head bobbed away, without the smile on her face ever altering. Her eyes were bright with energy and excitement. She stood very close to me and looked up into my eyes. She was trembling and bubbling.
“Fantastic!” she said. “I spent the whole day going over my notes so far, getting them in order.”
I frowned a little, but her excitement was infectious. I felt myself grinning. “That doesn’t sound like a lot of fun.”
“That’s not the fantastic part.” She was standing so close to me that I had to resist the urge to slide my arms around her narrow waist and feel the warmth of her firm body pressing against my chest.
“The fantastic part was when I called my editor and the newspaper.”
I took a small step back from her and slid my hands into my pockets. “I see.”
“I read him some of the things you’ve told me, and he thinks it would be great copy for a four-page special feature in a Saturday edition.”
“Wow,” I said.
“Wow, indeed!” Leticia was brimming. “It’s a big deal in the newspaper world, let me tell you. The Saturday edition has the highest circulation for the week. It’s the biggest paper the Examiner prints. And for an intern to be given so much space – ” She seemed to get lost for words for a moment. She flapped her hands and drew crazy shapes into the air, “Well it’s just the biggest thing ever!”
I smiled. “Congratulations,” I said sincerely.
We went upstairs, past the closed door of my bedroom, and several other closed doors, to the library.
Leticia followed me into the room but stopped suddenly on the threshold.
“Wow…” she said again, this time her voice softer and filled with a subdued awe.
I didn’t use the library any more. I hadn’t been in the room for more than twelve months. The smell of old books and leather and cigar smoke seemed to linger in the air and permeate from the walls.
It was a big room. Every inch of wall space was given to antique dark wooden bookcases that reached all the way from the floor to the ceiling. There was a stepladder on a discreet sliding rail set in front of each bookcase, and the shelves were lined with an eclectic mixture of old leather-bound first editions, history books, mainstream adventure novels, and even some selected texts on occult magic.
There were thick Persian rugs spread over the top of polished wooden
floorboards and two enormous wing-backed chairs, their soft green leather smooth and shiny in patches, as inviting as a pair of worn comfortable shoes.
The chairs were arranged across from each other in the middle of the floor with a small round table between them. On the table was a bottle of whisky and small glass tumblers.
I stood to the side, glanced around the room, remembering it all in an instant. Leticia stepped slowly forward like a sleep-walker. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted, her head tilted back to see the gold-leaf spines of the books on the highest shelves. Her handbag slid off her shoulder and fell gently to the floor, forgotten.
Leticia went to the nearest bookshelf and ran her fingers over the books, her touch like a caress.
There was an antique-looking chandelier hung from the ceiling, but it was actually a fake. There was a dimmer switch on the wall by the door. I turned the brightness of the lighting down until it was subtle and soft.
I sank into one of the chairs and poured myself a drink while Leticia walked along the shelves of books with a wonderland-like look in her eyes.
“I love books,” I said. I sipped at the drink, sprawled comfortably in the big chair, and once again surveyed the heavy wooden cases. But for all the room’s magic and mystery, my eyes kept returning covertly to Leticia.
“I like your outfit,” I said quietly.
She looked at me and laughed in a low throaty chuckle. “Thank you for the compliment.” She did a little pirouette. It was just a sweater and a pair of Levis, but somehow she made them look extraordinary. Her legs were long and slim, her bottom firm within the tight shape of the denim. Her breasts were accentuated by the way the powder-blue fabric clung to their shape and hugged at her narrow waist. She stuffed her hands into her pockets and turned back towards a collection of leather-bound first edition novels by a famous author.
