Acquiring the Taste Ch. 02

The drive was as silent as she might have expected, given previous experience, but Steve seemed even more distant than usual. Wasn't he looking forward to this? she wondered. In fact, he was thinking about the odd encounter with Veronica that afternoon, and still had been unable to make sense of it. And now, Miriam was unable to make sense of Steve's behavior. All right, she reasoned, you didn't mention the clothes, so I'm not mentioning the haircut. So if they were going to have any conversation on the way to the movie, only the obvious topic remained. "What are we seeing?" she asked.

"American Beauty."

"Who's in it?"

"Kevin Spacey, Annette Bening, Chris Cooper."

She smiled slightly at that answer, liking Kevin Spacey. She didn't know who Chris Cooper was, and was afraid that if she asked, Steve would go on a tangent and tell her all about him. Instead, she said, "Thank you for not choosing an art film."

He shrugged his shoulders and laughed a bit. She smiled, glad to have softened him up that much. She glanced at the steering wheel, wondering whether he really needed both hands to steer, as the car followed the gentle meander of Riverfront Boulevard toward the multiplex.

Once there, she followed him into the lobby. He walked briskly, keeping his hands in the pockets of his windbreaker as a slight drizzle began to fall.

He would have walked straight into the auditorium if she hadn't spoken up. "I want popcorn," she said. He looked over his shoulder at her, then turned to follow her to the snack bar.

No words passed between them as they stood in line, and their bodies never even touched. She glanced toward him a few times, each time finding his hands still in his pockets. Even when she leaned toward him or shifted her stance, trying just to create incidental contact, there seemed to remain a six-inch cushion of space between them.

Once at the counter, Miriam spoke up. "A large popcorn and a large Coke, please."

Steve corrected her immediately. "Make that two large Cokes."

She smiled toward him. "What, you don't want to share a drink with your date? Afraid of cooties?" She reached out – from his point of view, almost lunged at him – and put an arm around him, and he seemed to cringe in embarrassment as she gave him a squeeze. She cleared her throat and let him go, no longer quite so amused, but still mustering a smile.

He smiled back, then changed the order. "One Coke will be just fine, thanks," he said, which gave Miriam a little reassurance.

There would be no hand-holding on the way to the auditorium, as Miriam found herself holding both the popcorn and the drink. Once they were seated, she put the drink in the cupholder, and her hand lingered hopefully on the armrest, waiting for Steve's. When the lights dimmed, she felt quite alone.

In the shadows, she saw his arm reach out and take the Coke. It was his first soda in three days, and having grown accustomed to drinking tea, he was surprised by the sweetness. He put the soda down, not sure he wanted any more. Miriam picked it up and took a drink herself, and peeked toward Steve a few times, waiting for him to take another drink. He didn't.

He did, however, reach for the popcorn several times. He made no move toward her, and in fact almost seemed to be carefully avoiding touching her as he reached for the popcorn.

While Steve, and most everyone else in the auditorium, became absorbed in the movie, Miriam found herself unable to enjoy it or even to pay any attention to it. She continued watching his hand reaching for the popcorn. She was resolved not to make the first move, but thought that perhaps a little accidental skin contact would remind Steve why they were here tonight. She put her hand over the popcorn and waited for Steve's next reach.

He felt her hand over the bucket and recoiled. "Sorry," she heard him say, and after that, he seemed to be done with the popcorn. She turned her face toward the screen disinterestedly. They might as well have been watching Aguirre again.

About half an hour into the movie, when Ricky Fitts had just become Lester Burnham's personal hero, Lester Burnham was becoming Steve's. And when Carolyn Burnham was ready to go home, so was Miriam. She took a deep breath, just barely controlling her temper, as she rose from her seat and plopped the bucket in Steve's lap. "Don't let me distract you from the movie," she announced, not bothering to lower her voice. "I'll be going home now." And she stepped into the aisle.

Steve almost took her mock advice and continued watching the movie, but a voice in his subconscious spoke up. That's your date, dumbass. Follow her. He stood up, letting the popcorn bucket fall to the floor, and he made haste.

He caught up with her in the parking lot as she was walking toward the street. "Let me take you home," he said as he approached her from behind.

She stopped in her tracks, irate, and chewed on her lip briefly before spitting out the word, "Fine," and accompanying him to his car.

Steve was vaguely aware that he had done something to screw up, and was desperate to make amends. He struggled to keep pace with her as she walked, the heels of her pumps clicking rapidly on the pavement. As he walked alongside her, he finally reached out for her hand, and when he touched it, she drew it away as if she had just touched a hot burner on a stove top.

Her eyes flashed fiercely in the lamplights as she suddenly wheeled on him and stood there, towering over him angrily. "Damn it, Steve, I'm not interested in going through the motions. If you want to hold my hand, hold it. If you don't, don't. But don't you dare hold my hand just because you think that's what I want."

They stood there in the parking lot, she glowering a bit and he cowering a bit, and after a brief standoff, she again started walking toward the car, more slowly this time, and he followed. Steve recalled the previous night's conversation, and Miriam's key points began to come back to him. He had fallen back into his old habits and barely been aware of it. But her last sentence rolled around in his mind as they got into the car and departed.

"Let me see if I've got this straight," he said, after some careful thought had roused his temper. "What you want is not for me to hold your hand, but for me to want to hold your hand? In-fucking-credible. I'm curious, when did you develop this goddess complex?"

She swiveled her head, and when she answered him, her voice came out unexpectedly amplified. "Excuse me, but I happen to think I'm pretty damned desirable. I shouldn't have to beg you for the simplest show of affection." She paused briefly before adding, "What a letdown. New do, same old you."

"I take it you don't like the haircut," he stated flatly.

Her reply came swiftly. "The bald look suits you better than the Patrick Swayze wannabe look, but that's not the point. You came to my doorstep showing off your scalp, and I jumped to the conclusion that a profound change in your hairstyle would mean a profound change in your behavior toward me. Now, you just look like someone who shaved his head in order to spite me. It looks like you intended all along to just ignore the signals all over again, as if yesterday's conversation never happened, as if you didn't know what the movie was leading up to."

Steve sighed. Miriam was right, and he understood that clearly now, but he was still upset. "Well, maybe you and I should have just skipped the bullshit and went straight to bed."

She answered through a haze of angry tears. "This isn't bullshit to me, Steve! Did you think that we were going to go from not touching each other at all to suddenly touching each other in the most intimate way possible, all in one step? I wanted to feel your presence when I leaned toward you. I wanted to feel your hand on mine. I wanted you to put your arm around my shoulders and pull me toward you. I wanted you to hold me close so that I could feel your breathing and your heartbeat. I wanted to feel all of the light touches that lead up to the deeper ones, and to spend the night with you as a couple, not as two individuals. That's not bullshit. That's foreplay."

"I know how that works. I've had dates before."

"I know that. You've introduced me to a few of them. And I notice that you have a lot of first dates, but not many second ones. I wonder, did your father believe in skipping the bullshit? Is that where you learned your courtship skills? Is he the one who taught you to starve the woman for affection and see if she sticks around?"

The last few sentences came out with unabashed spontaneity, and she turned toward him. She remembered what month it was when she saw the sallow complexion of his face, and she had to look away, sickened with shame when she realized the verbal sucker punch she had just landed.

Steve finally broke the silence with a monosyllable. "Wow."

She swallowed hard. Steve's ignorant behavior suddenly didn't matter anymore. "I'm sorry. That was really mean."

"Damn right it was."

"It's been seven years now, right?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

Not the same as accepting the apology, she noted, but maybe I don't deserve that just yet. She didn't feel like holding back the tears anymore, and she let them fall as she spent the rest of the drive home recalling what had happened seven Octobers ago.

That spring, they had graduated from State U together as best friends. She had taken her accounting degree to the state department of revenue – not her dream job, but the pay and benefits were hard to beat. Steve, on the other hand, was moving to Illinois, having been admitted to the school of law at Northwestern.

Before he moved away, they had exchanged addresses, both fully intending to write, but never doing so, and it seemed they would drift apart.

She had hardly recognized the man who showed up on her doorstep that evening in October. He hadn't slept or eaten in days, and looked it. She was glad to see him, and invited him in. She would have apologized for not writing – even though he hadn't written either – but didn't get the chance to speak. No sooner was he safe inside her abode than all the tension and misery he had accumulated over the past three weeks sent him collapsing in a sobbing heap on her living room sofa. She listened to his inarticulate emotional outburst with his head on her shoulder, and when it finally subsided, she quickly fixed dinner for him and waited to hear his story. And he spoke, and spoke, and spoke, as if he had had no one to talk to since graduation.

She listened to him, and cried with him, and polished off a bottle of whiskey with him, until in his exhaustion he slumped on her sofa at two in the morning. She sat with him a while longer, trying to rouse him, to invite him into the bedroom, but there wouldn't be any success waking him until the next afternoon.

She went to bed alone, with her best friend asleep in the living room. She had known that he was starting to drift off, but couldn't coax him into the bedroom. For once, she hadn't been able to get him to stop talking – about his mother, about his father, the search for and discovery of his body, the will, the letter – especially the letter, as if he was dumbfounded to discover how much his father loved him, and how much he loved his father.

Even though, several months before, she had already decided that he had blown his last chance, she would have been overjoyed to take him into her bedroom, wrap him up in the sheets with her, and let him drown his sorrows in her welcoming flesh. It was just as well, she supposed, that he slept through his opportunity for pity sex. After all, there was no sense in kidding herself.

Now she chided herself for the callous remark she had made, for irritating his old wounds, but couldn't understand why, after all the years, those wounds seemed not to have healed at all.

This wasn't the only thing that made Steve such an enigma. He could have bought a house in the suburbs, but chose to live in a three-bedroom apartment near the university. He could have re-enrolled, or gone back to Northwestern, but he chose to educate himself with a random book pulled from the stacks at the public library or purchased at the used book store near campus. He had a strong voice and a significant net worth, and used neither to his advantage, as if he had no idea how much power and influence he could wield if only he chose. This wasn't just a lack of ambition, this was a lack of direction.

She could provide Steve with a direction.

She couldn't believe what she was thinking as she fingered the business card in her purse. Was she really going to suggest a kinky relationship with him, just because their attempts at a vanilla relationship hadn't worked? It would have been a very bold thing to do yesterday. But now, with their friendship practically ruined, there seemed to be a lot less to lose.

What if he said no to this? It was still risky to give him a glimpse into the other world that she walked in. But she had revealed a close secret to him many years before, back in college, when she came out of the closet to her closest friends as bisexual. Contrary to all her expectations, he had been the most accepting.

She sighed and almost smiled as she remembered that. That was what made Steve's friendship so valuable – his willingness to accept her, as she was, on her terms. But coming out as bisexual seemed a baby step in comparison to the step she would be taking by coming out to him as a Domme. Was she willing to take that step?

As he pulled the car up to the curb outside her house, Steve broke the silence as she mulled over this decision. "I hope you'll understand if I decide not to show up to play cards next week."

She sniffed back the last of her tears and pulled the card out of her purse. "No, you're not going to be rid of me that easily. Look – let's forget about what just happened. Let's take a night to cool off, and then we'll try again tomorrow. But on my terms this time."

Steve looked at her in disbelief. "You really want to try again after this disaster?"

"It can only get better, right? Look, I understand that I made a mistake. I was waiting for a non-assertive man to assert himself." She could immediately see in his facial reaction that he felt offended, and she shook her head and reached out for his arm, desperate to undo the damage she had done with her earlier words. He didn't pull his arm away this time, as she continued. "Please, I'm not trying to insult you, I'm just trying to state the facts as I see them. Relax. I get it. You want me to take the lead. So that's what I'll do. Please forgive me, and please give me another chance. I think there's a way we can make this work out."

He didn't reply, only looking at her skeptically as she raised the business card with a trembling hand and gave it to him. The card had no name, only an address, which Steve recognized as being located in the old industrial section of town.

She took a deep breath and spoke again. "Meet me there tomorrow night. Whatever time is convenient for you. Just give me a call before you show up. No dinner, no awkwardness, no hand-holding – no bullshit, as you put it. Just you and me, among a few friends – being ourselves."

He held the card as he listened to her. "What is this place?"

"It's a building that Chris just purchased. He's in the process of deciding what to do with it. He'll be there. Probably Yukiko too. Maybe others."

He nodded. So that's what they've been up to lately, he said to himself, thinking that this was somehow related to Yukiko's business plans, and considering it an odd venue for a date. But maybe this wasn't really a date. Maybe this was just a comfortable place and situation in which to start fresh. He desperately wanted that. He turned to her. "I'll be there," he said.

She relaxed a bit, and managed a slight smile. "I'm looking forward to it," she said in barely more than a whisper, as he resumed looking at the card. She looked away, and as she got out of the car to walk to her front door, he hastily decided to walk with her, leaving the car idling at the curb. She looked over her shoulder, a bit surprised to see him follow, but not at all disappointed.

He stood on the porch with her as she unlocked her door, but she didn't go inside. She took a deep breath, emotionally drained, and turned toward him. "You're not thinking of staying here tonight, are you?"

He chuckled, feeling pretty drained himself. "Yes. But I'm not going to."

She laughed with him, and as their laughter died away, they stood there uneasily for a few seconds. With a sigh, he turned away to go back to his car, and she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Steve?" she said, quickly pulling her hand away and biting her lip.

"Yes?" He looked at his shoulder for a split second – as if he wanted her hand back, so it seemed to her.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and spoke in a shaky voice. "I'd feel a lot better about tonight if –" She glanced at the ground, words failing her.

He watched her face carefully, and seemed to understand now. He stepped toward her and slowly took her in a friendly embrace. "I'm sorry, Miriam," he whispered.

She was caught off guard, and it took her a moment to return the embrace. She was relieved, and grateful, and struggling not to break down. "I'm sorry too," she mumbled.

"Good night," he said, as he reluctantly let her go and returned to his car.

"Good night," she replied, going inside and quickly closing the door behind her so that she could let out the bottled-up emotions as she heard his car drive away.

She sobbed for a good fifteen minutes over the near-shambles of their friendship, and the ridiculous gamble she was making by revealing her secret life to Steve. Do you really think it's going to be any easier to make the man your sub than to date him? she asked herself. Probably not, she answered, but that doesn't matter just now. You have another sub to attend to. Veronica had inexplicably failed, and needed to be punished – not so much because she felt Veronica deserved it, but because she felt it important to remain true to her word. Miriam calmed herself, picked up the phone and dialed.

When Veronica had arrived back at her apartment earlier, she hurried to her door, wanting to get to the shower as quickly as possible. She hadn't even had time to wash her face before her Mistress hurried her away, and there was Jessica, her friend and next-door neighbor, standing at her own door with her new flavor-of-the-month boyfriend. Veronica was relieved that Jessica seemed to be too busy to notice. She and – what was his name? Oh yes – Roger were having a heated conversation, the volume escalating as they walked into Jessica's apartment and shut the door behind them. Yes, Veronica thought, she's about due for another melodramatic break-up. She was glad to be able to hurry inside her own apartment and get cleaned up without having Jessica greet her, talk to her, and perhaps suspect something she didn't want Jessica to know. She showered thoroughly and put liniment on her ankle, then went to bed early.

She had relaxed a great deal after the chastity belt had been removed, and Miriam's smile and words of praise were fresh in her mind, but with the fight brewing next door, she couldn't quite get to sleep. The ringing of her phone snapped her fully awake, and as she turned on her bedside lamp and checked the caller ID, the blood drained from her face. It was barely 11:00. Miriam shouldn't have been calling right now. She should have been enjoying her date. Veronica took the phone with a shaky hand.