Blaze

  Blaze

  The Sandstone Affair

  Part 4

  by

  Priscilla West

  Copyright © 2012

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Copyright © 2012

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Warning: This work contains scenes of graphic sexual nature and it is written for adults only(18+). All characters depicted in this story are over 18 years of age.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 1

  “Son of a bitch!” I shout, throwing the pictures down on the table as if they burn my fingers. Truth is, they are burning my eyes and incinerating my heart. Mark and Valerie? Under my nose? Behind my back? In front of my face? How can this be happening?

  My mind snaps back and forth so quickly I’m worried I might get the bends. One minute I’m revelling in the joy of breaking down the walls that have held my passion in check for so long and the next I am cast into the cold light of this ugly reality. I turn away from the table and walk to the window hoping to see some sun, or smog, or children playing or an old woman getting mugged – anything but those pictures. Then, before I get halfway across the room I go back and look at them. Mark and Valerie James making love, his hands on her hips, his cock in her mouth, her playful, disgusting smile and his deep beautiful eyes looking at her – the way I thought he only looked at me.

  Am I mad because he’s the jerk who used me or am I mad because I’m the fool who loved him for it?

  My mind reels with possible scenarios as to what is really happening. However, it’s about to take a holiday because the numbness of the shock is wearing off and pure, raw emotional energy is taking its place. Like a generator that has reached critical mass, I fume and throw things. I walk around in circles alternating between cursing Mark and berating myself for falling into this scheme.

  The table, still filled with the paperwork for my rejoinder, my father’s medical bills and old resumes I’m trying to update in case the worst should happen, serves as a reminder that the worst most definitely has happened.

  “You son of a bitch!” I say again, pushing everything off in a flurry. Files and documents fly across the room. “Your brother stole my company, his lawyer stole my money and you, you, stole my love. I have nothing. Nothing!”

  Silent and unmoving, the table refuses to comfort me or refute my charge. In fact, fighting with the table proves to be a completely unsatisfying experience. But I know what wouldn’t leave me empty and cold. Marching into Mark’s pristine office and throwing some of his files around. As prissy as he is about his paperwork he’ll probably collapse and then when he’s down on the floor collecting his precious accounts and transaction ledgers, I’ll kick him right in the balls.

  The plan makes every kind of sense in the world to me. I rush to get dressed, choosing a pair of black jeans, leather boots and a T-shirt. I’m in a shit kicking mood and I know just the piece of shit who has it coming. I grab my purse and begin a whirlwind tour of my apartment playing the “where did I toss my keys last night?” game.

  Last night. What a difference a day makes. Last night I was a sane, settled woman who confessed my love to a man and meant it. I thanked him for bringing warmth and necessary changes into my life and envisioned our paths growing in hope and goodness. Last night I was Julia Sharp. Today, I’m Pissed Off Julia, Queen of the Damned.

  “Wait,” Mark’s voice called from somewhere deep inside my psyche. “Wait and think.”

  He’s right. How cruel a fate is that? Even when he has wronged me, he’s right. I am Julia Sharp, not Miss Shark. I am smart, together, and in charge of my world. I don’t run around half-cocked shouting and acting the jackass just because I’m not getting my way. All this month I’ve been on the rollercoaster of my emotions, learning self-respect and self-control, and this is the test. Not Mark’s test, my test. If I can take this betrayal and scrape some kind of good from the bottom of my broken heart, I can conquer anything.

  I put down my purse and sit on the couch, collecting the pictures back into the envelope. I can’t go charging into Sandstone Ventures and make a scene. I’ve already been humiliated once in that office, and Blake has that restraining order against me. I probably shouldn’t even make a call. It would be traced, catalogued and I’d be before the judge in time for lunch.

  Taking a deep breath, I try to focus as the first tears begin to fall. I think of Mark, his sense of humor and warm gentle touch. The way he holds me after sex, nurturing and replenishing my energy. The rough and confident thrusts he makes in my body, taking me as an entitled being – raw sex and real power put together. The caring way he cooks, and teaches. I can stare at him for hours and feel nothing but peace and anticipation of the next time our bodies merge into a surging, consuming wave.

  I love him.

  The small flowing tears turn to big, heart wrenching, throat clogging sobs. I loved him, and the whole time I was loving him, I was loving a lie.

  When I’m able to breathe I pick up my phone and call Mark’s cell.

  “Hi, this is Mark,” he says cordially. Does he answer the phone like that when it’s Valerie? I know I’m distracted. Everything I think comes right back to her.

  “I need to see you, right away. Right now.”

  “It’s not a good time, and I’m at my office now,” he says with an edge in his voice meant to tell me I’m putting his big plan at risk.

  “Well, this is the only time there is,” I say. It comes out a lot more mystical sounding than I wanted. I flatten my voice into a stone, like my heart. “Go home for lunch. I will meet you at noon.”

  “This really isn’t a good—”

  “It’s not an offer, Mark. It’s a demand and you’ll meet it.”

  “What on earth has gotten into you?”

  “The truth, Mark. The truth has finally worked its way into my deluded head.”

  “What? What truth?”

  “Meet me at your apartment at noon. And, Mark. I’m not sneaking in the back door this time, or ever again. I’m coming through the front door so you better be in the lobby when I get there.”

  I hang up the phone before he responds or I lose my nerve. I don’t bother turning on my radio because the song in my head is already playing too loudly to allow anything else to be heard. That song is titled, “What a Fool I’ve Been.”

  I remember when he was talking about how dangerous it was for me to be seen at his place. Mark told me Valerie lived near him. He told me that he needed me to sneak in and use another name in order to protect me, and I bought it not even realizing that it’s a perfect way to sneak your mistress past the doorman, who probably knows Valerie by name. Names matter. Like how Mark never calls her Miss James, and frequently calls her Val. He called me Miss Sharp all the time until the day he screwed me over his desk.

  Then, another shot to the heart: Mark asked me the day we met with Janice to give “Val” whatever she was looking for in my office. Thank God I decided to hold on to the Wall Street story. It’s the only card I’ve got left, and he would have had me just hand it to her – his girlfriend – on a silver platter along with my business.

  It’s all so clear.

  Now that everyth
ing makes sense, I’m more angry than sad. So angry, in fact, I drive right past his building and have to make a U-turn and come at it from the other direction to pull into the underground parking garage. The fact that so many meaningful moments in my life happened in this building and I don’t even know how to enter it correctly is not lost on me. I arrive about ten minutes early and sit in the car looking at the envelope full of the pictures in the front seat and trying to think of what my approach to this is going to be. I can’t just run around his apartment throwing things and sobbing. I’m leaving him, but I’m taking my dignity out the door with me.

  I see him standing in the lobby with the perturbed scowl of a man who has just been terribly inconvenienced. I don’t bother smiling, although the sight of him makes my heart flutter and ache at the same time. He smiles at the lobby clerk, and guides me to the elevator that requires his key.

  “Nice to be going in the front for a change,” I say, my bitterness overwhelming the small elevator car and crowding him into silence. He opens the door for me like a gentleman, and the first thing I do is scan his place for any sign of her – a leftover scarf, some lipstick, a pearl handled knife he can jab in my back. Nothing. You would never know she was in his life, unless you had photographic evidence burning a hole through your hand.

  “This better be good, Julia, because I had to take a lot of risks to get here. I had to lie to Blake about a meeting, and I’m not really used to being the lying brother in the family. You could have jeopardized our last chance!”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Mark,” I reply. “Seems like you lie pretty well to me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “For example, how you told me you wanted to give Valerie James whatever she wanted from my office because you thought it would be good for me. That was a total lie. Or when you told me Valerie James was going to get my company because she was Blake’s mistress. That was a good one too. Or when you told me you were falling in love with me. That was the biggest whopper of them all. You lie just fine.”

  “She is Blake’s mistress!” He blurted out.

  “And when you say “Blake” you mean you, right?”

  “What the hell?” Mark put his hands on his hips and bit his lower lip. I had done a good job of staying in control, but even the best dam breaks at some point.

  “Hell? You want to know about hell? I’ll tell you about hell. Hell is when you open yourself up to someone completely, giving him your body and soul, just to wake up in the morning and discover you’re nothing but a fool.”

  I can’t contain it any more. I throw the envelope at him and make my way to the couch. Just looking at it makes me want to vomit. I can’t sit on it knowing she was there, on this sofa, loving him and laughing at my naivety. I pace around the couch looking for somewhere to sit because I’m about to pass out, when I finally land on a bar stool in the kitchen.

  I watch Mark as he picks up the envelope that bounced off his chest and landed on the floor. He looks at me quizzically, and then carefully opens the flap. Reaching in, he pulls the stack of pictures out and turns them over so he can see the top one. I stare at him unashamedly. I want to see his face when he gets caught in his act.

  It’s not the expression I anticipated. He’s not angry, or guilty, or sad. He doesn’t throw them back in protest or laugh and pretend it’s a joke. He squints and analyzes each one going through the stack again and again. I can tell by his eyes, and the slight head tilt he’s making, the only feeling he has is confusion.

  “Where did you get these?” He asks looking at me like he’s just seen an airplane materialize out of thin air. “Who took them?”

  I’m taken aback by his quiet confusion and don’t know how to feel about it. If this is an act, he should get an Academy Award.

  “How the hell should I know who took them?” I retort. “Who else do you have in the room when you’re having sex with my worst enemy? Maybe that would be the person.”

  “We didn’t have anyone with us and these were taken in my house. I don’t understand how this is possible. Where did you get these?”

  “Okay, Mark. Let’s put the brakes on,” I say testily. The fact he is more concerned about the evidence than what it shows puts me off. “Before we get into who owns a camera, why don’t you stop and tell me exactly why you are screwing Valerie James in these pictures?”

  “Don’t be dumb, Julia. We were screwing because she was my lover and that’s what you do with lovers – you make love. Now, where did you get these?”

  “Oh, that explains it. You’re lovers. How nice. How fucking nice. You make love. Well, if you two are ‘lovers’ then what the hell have you and I been? Fuckers?” I stand up and open my arms wide. I know I promised myself I wouldn’t be histrionic but once again Mark has my head messed up as the situation spins wildly out of my expectation.

  Mark looks at me again and I can see he finally gets the fact I’m on the edge here.

  “Wait,” he says. “You don’t think this is now, do you?”

  “Now who’s dumb, Mark? Yes I think this is now. The past is the past, the future is the future and this is fucking now! Stop with the philosophy and tell me why.” I sit back down, the strength bleeding out of me as I swing from anger to the other side of this equation – the hurt. “I just want to know why. What did I ever do to any of you?”

  Mark sits down on the couch, clearly having trouble looking away from the pictures. I know that feeling. He sets them aside, and gives me the gentlest loving gaze. I could slap him for it.

  “Julia, come sit with me and I can explain some of this. Then I need you to explain some things to me because I think we are in deep waters here,” he says softly as if he is trying to talk down a grizzly bear.

  “I’m not sitting on that fucking couch. Now or ever, you jackass,” I say. “The only thing I want to do on that couch is set it on fire. How’s that for an explanation?”

  “You need to stop,” Mark says with his no-nonsense parental tone. The lessons of my submissive month kick in and I immediately stare at the floor. I want to fight the hypnotic suggestion his voice holds on me, but I fall into his spell every time.

  “I want this to stop,” I cry quietly. “I want all this pain to stop.”

  “Here’s what we are going to do. First, you are going to stop the cursing. It’s unhelpful at best, and grotesque on you. Second, I am going to sit beside you and explain my side of this and you are not going to interrupt me. Then, and only then, will I listen to you. Third, at that time you will tell me exactly where you got these.”

  I grab a Kleenex from the bar and nod like a pacified child. He walks over slowly and takes the stool beside me at the kitchen bar, placing the pictures on the counter face down. I reach over and turn them back up. He can face his guilt while he faces me.

  “Yes,” he says with crisp and accentuated articulation, “Val and I were lovers. But it was at least five years ago and we haven’t been together since.”

  “Val, Val, Val…I give you credit for not claiming this was Photoshopped, but really – five years later you’re still calling her ‘Val’ but you opened me in my most private space just last night and you are still call me ‘Julia’ so don’t tell me it’s over with her.”

  “I said no interruption, if you recall,” he remarks.

  “Sorry.”

  “I will probably start calling you “Jul” in time, but Julia fits you better, it’s prettier – like you. Anyway, we met when the board of Ladies World was running out of cash options and looking for an infusion of capital. She was part of the process. I liked her immediately. She was so headstrong and smart. Val is driven and able, she is like the salmon that swim upstream – always pushing, always forging ahead.”

  She’s also got long legs, an hourglass figure and red hair that draw men to her like a beacon, I think to myself, but refrain from interrupting him. He reads my mind.

  “Val is very attractive, and that certainly doesn’t hurt. In fact, she uses it quit
e well when the need arises. She’s, well, she’s a lot like you - amazing and strong, attractive and inviting. But she also has some of the same pitfalls as you. She’s so driven she can’t stop. She’s up on power and out of balance about people. Eventually, we all exist to serve Ladies World in some way or another because it’s her real love. As much as I wanted her, I eventually discovered I’d never be anything more than a name in the contributor’s column of her life.”

  My mind flashes back to Greg and the way I used him to dump my problems, dragged him to places because I was doing a story and generally set him on the back-burner through most of our love. I did love Greg, but not more than Lynx. I nod.

  “She’s wanted to change Ladies World for a long time, to keep it relevant. So, when we were dating she decided to do a series of edgy stories about the city and subcultures in it so she chose the BDSM culture/fetish clubs as a topic. We both thought it would be fun to get in some leather and hit the scene. We went to clubs, got invited to some munches, and tried out some of the stuff – spanking, collars, leather and lace, dominance and submission. Instead of bringing us together, it tore us apart.”