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I shivered as though a spider was crawling up my spine, then turned around. “I think so. But it’s pretty incomprehensible unless you know what you want.”
“Do you know what you want?” he asked.
“Has everyone left?” I deflected his question with my own.
“On the way out. But that shouldn’t concern you.”
Perhaps not. This moment felt as awkward as the time before.
“Is it about discipline, Gail, or only the sexual sensation?” he went straight to the point.
“Both, I think.”
“What about discipline?” he asked. His face was grim, which made me wonder which man was the real KC—the reproving director inside the theatre, or the compassionate young lover. Whatever guise he was wearing, it was intensely sexual. We stood six feet apart, with KC staying put until he had the scene sized up and in his head exactly as he would play it out.
I answered understanding this, afraid of my own words, but not afraid to speak them. “Sometimes I need to feel constrained, controlled, taken down.”
“You already seem that way to me,” he replied.
“But that’s not the way I am. You haven’t seen even half of me.”
“You’re telling me you’re a wildly, r
eckless, free-as-a-bird crazy who needs to be spanked for being rebellious and bratty?” He strolled to a platform nearby and pushed up, his ass resting on the top while his feet dangled down.
“I’m more reckless than you think,” I said moving toward him, I took a seat on the platform, too, and I crossed my legs Indian style.
“In what way?” he asked.
“I’m going to lose my job.” I fingered the hem of my sweater like a fidgety kid.
“Oh? Why?”
“Focus. I’m losing focus.”
“Maybe it’s the wrong job?”
Looking up, I kept up the confession, “Sometimes I drink too much—at home alone.”
“That’s not a good sign.”
“I’m perpetually late for work.”
“Go on.”
“My attitude is not respectful. I feel myself taking chances like I hope someone will notice and get really pissed—so I’ll get really pissed and I’ll end up canned.”
“You play these scenarios often?”
“About as often as I think of getting disciplined. Like I don’t know which I really want.”
“I thought you’d been the first-class architect for years now.”
“I have, but it’s slipping. It feels as though I’m reverting to my old self—like I was before…”
“Before what?”
“When I was in college, when I was completely undisciplined, worse than I am now…” I didn’t want to talk about that time, so I switched back to the present, “I think I’ve lost my will to care. At least until last week.”
