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“I’ll improvise where I need to, but yes. I want to finish this out, for myself.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “All right.”
She climbed out of bed and pulled on the decidedly wrinkled Marilyn dress. “You can send them to my suite.”
Standing with her, he took her hands in his, brown thumbs rubbing over her skin. “I suppose this is goodbye.”
“Yes. Thank you for everything, Miguel. You changed me, too.”
He cocked his head. “Is that what you think happened between us?”
“I do. Chemical reaction in the hottest of crucibles.” She smiled when he continued to look dubious. “Well, that’s what it was for me. Good luck. I hope it all works out for you.”
“Thank you. To both Roo and Tilda.”
“We’re the same person,” she whispered, as if confiding a secret.
“I know that now.” He kissed her and walked her to the elevator.
As the doors started to close she called out. “Oh, Miguel? I totally would have been into a little titty torture.”
The bark of his laugh was cut off by the airlock seal of the cool silver.
* * *
The four notes arrived that afternoon, each neatly labeled with Miguel’s elegant cursive script, with a fifth note, unsealed, instructing her to wait for each day to open them.
Demanding, even from a distance.
Feeling her lips curve with affection for his domineering ways, she opened the first note with anticipation.
Dearest Roo,
I sit here writing this note, knowing that you are not far away from me, and yet already I miss you. But we have said our goodbyes and a plane is waiting for me. You know I like to follow the rules.
For today, I planned to take you to see the Flamenco dancers. The women who do it in the traditional style are so beautiful—and passionate. But that was my second plan. When we first met, that night I wrote out my list, anticipating all the dirty, nasty games I would play with you. You were so sexy and so game that you truly fired my imagination.
So I planned to take you to the strip club, to watch the ladies dancing, and perhaps persuade you to take a turn on the stage. I bought a mask and a dress for you to wear, with underwear to strip down to.
You are right—always, yes?—and I changed my mind. That seemed too slutty for you. I began to think of introducing you to my grandmother and I crossed that off the list and changed it to Flamenco dancers.
Now my mind is muddled and I don’t know which is right. Perhaps it’s best that you explore for yourself, without my expectations. My driver will meet you in the usual place at 7. You tell him which you’d like to do. He’ll stay with you, to look after you.
Have fun. I’m sorry to miss it.
Miguel
With the notes came a box. He’d sent everything to her—the clamps, the gold rings, the vibrator. The mask and dress.
So she went to the strip club and watched the ladies dancing, wearing her mask and the barely there dress. Their young bodies moved in sleek, strong and sexy movements, the room dim, like a den of exotic sex.
Would she have stripped on the stage, had Miguel told her to? She never did use her safe word.
Perhaps not. But she would have stripped for him, back on his private deck, with the torches lighting her. She studied the way the girls moved and thought about how she would have danced for him, enjoying the burn of the fantasy.
Instead she went back to the resort and danced to the marimba music with strangers.
January 3
