No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 03

"What do you have in mind?" He sounded a little distracted.

"Are you busy tomorrow night? I thought I would cook you a home-cooked meal. You've cooked for me so many times, and we've gone out so many times, but I've never cooked for you. I want you to come over and try a recipe I've just gotten from one of my favorite restaurants in the world."

"Hmmm," he paused. "It's really pretty weird, Marcie, but I just got a call, not two minutes before you, canceling a board meeting that had been scheduled weeks ago for tomorrow night, as it happens. I was wondering what I was going to do with all of that free time. Yes. Of course! I would love to come to dinner. Thanks for saving me."

* - * - *

All day Tuesday, after spending a sleepless night thinking about his portfolio, Carole's comments about being honest with him and whether he was watching her every move, she obsessed about what was in store for her. Waiting until the party on Friday to know whether he was fucking around with her would be too long; she wasn't sure how to tell him, but she knew she had to get it over with immediately. She couldn't stand the guilt or the fallout. Carole's voice kept whispering in her ear reminding her of even bigger issues, but she definitely wasn't going to broach that subject tonight, no matter what happened on Friday. She felt pretty confident she could get through the party without incident.

When he arrived, she greeted him with a hug and kiss. Even though she thought this might be the last time she saw him, just seeing him again excited her. Besides, she had a meal to cook. Best to wait until after dinner before broaching any controversial subjects.

"Tell me about the menu," he asked putting his coat on a hanger.

"The main course is the thing; the rest is just organic vegetables. It's a ravioli from a small restaurant off the beaten track in Italy. I was there a couple of years ago with some girlfriends and I fell in love with the dish. I've been badgering the chef to give me the recipe and he finally relented."

"I can't wait. What's it called?"

"It's 'Ravioli di zucchi' --ravioli stuffed with pumpkin in a gorgonzola sauce."

He paused for a moment. "What's the name of the restaurant?"

"Il Campo del Verano...it's a tiny place just north of Milan."

"Ummhmmm...." he looked around the room, noting the art on the walls, the simple furnishings. The hairs on his neck stood up a little and he felt goosebumps on his arms. "Just north of Milan. I think I know the place actually."

"No way. It's super tiny -- only about 10 tables. One of the women I was with suggested it, so we went. Really? You think you know it?" She was busying herself in the kitchen peeking at him through the pass-through every now and again. "Sorry -- there's a bottle of wine on the side table there. Could you open it and pour a glass for us?"

"Pretty sure I've been there. When were you there?"

"Three...no four years ago. June 12. I know because it was my girlfriend's birthday and we spent it there."

"June 12, four years ago." He opened the bottle and poured the wine. "Don't freak out, but I think I was there that night."

"What?! No. Fucking. Way." She started to freak out.

"Seriously. Don't get weird on me. I'm pretty sure I was there that night. I was supposed to have a business dinner with a prospect and they didn't show. I ended up eating alone. Pretty sure." He walked into the kitchen with her glass.

She stood there agape. There's no fucking way he was there. He's fucking with me. "No. Way. Hold on, we took a lot of pictures that night. If you were there, it's likely you're in them."

"You'd think I would remember a bunch of American women making a lot of fuss in that place, but I don't recall. Maybe I was there another night. I know I was in Italy in June four years ago, and I'm pretty sure the Milan show I was at was over after the first week..."

She had left already to get her photographs, returning with a box. "Let's see, Mr. World Traveler- there's-no-coincidences." She pulled out several three ring notebooks, each labeled by year. Flipping through the one from four years previous, she stopped at the set of pictures from Il Campo.

They both stared at the photograph. There, looking straight into the camera was Monty from across the room at an empty table.

She almost fainted. She put her hand to her mouth, the color draining from her face. "No. Fucking. Way." She closed the book and looked at him.

He shrugged, but otherwise seemed unperturbed by the photograph. "I don't remember that you were there. Sorry."

She wanted to hit him. "Sorry? You're sorry because you don't remember me being there? I don't remember you being there. That's not the point! We were both there! In a tiny restaurant in Italy. It's not like we bumped into each other at the grocery store up the street. Italy. Out of the way, tiny restaurant. Never heard of you. You never heard of me. Both of us. There. Doesn't that strike you as just a little bit odd?"

"It isn't any more odd than bumping into you in the coffee room. No accidents, no coincidences. It has no meaning one way or the other. We've probably crossed paths hundreds of times."

She wasn't satisfied by his nonchalance. "This is incredible and you're sitting there saying it happens all the time. I couldn't write this in a novel and have people believe it, but as far as you can tell, it's perfectly normal." Before she got annoyed she closed the book and got up to make dinner. "Do you recall the specialty of the house? Cause I'm going to try and make it and I'd appreciate you complimenting me on it whether it's what you remember or not."

She pondered the coincidence...yet another instance of their lives crossing. On the one hand it reduced her concerns about him setting her up...unless of course he started four years ago, but that was really a stupid thing to think. Really, she was making herself so important. On the other hand, it was impossible to believe they'd been closer together in that room that evening than they were at the moment.

She flew around the small kitchen, pulling pans down from there, ingredients out from here. He watched through the pass-through, offering to help and getting nothing but objections. In no time, it seemed to him, she had pasta plated with a wonderful sauce, a fresh bottle of wine opened and a crisp salad awaiting them at the table.

She studied him as they ate, listening to his quiet discussion of nothing-of-importances, his political views and passions about local environmental issues. Her ears perked up when he talked about one of the charities she knew he was a part of. At that turn in the conversation, she decided she couldn't keep her guilt bottled up any longer. If she didn't clear her conscience of her stupidity, she wouldn't be able to finish dinner. She tried to swallow the ball caught in her throat.

"Monty," she started quietly, expecting this might be the end of their relationship. "I have something of an important topic to bring up. I have to apologize to you. I...well..I have to confess something."

He put down his fork and wiped his mouth, paying her his full attention.

"I...well...first of all, I have had nothing but the best time with you for the past month. I can't tell you how wonderful it's been -- you have been an amazing lover, a true gentleman, and you have been nothing but honest with me. I am very grateful and I think I am falling in love with you." Whoops...what did I just say?

He looked a little surprised but smiled, making it even harder for her to say what she had on her mind.

"I wish that were my confession, but now, I'm afraid, I have to tell you that I think I really fucked up." She was beginning to shake from the raw emotion of having to tell him what she had done, the full realization of her stupidity crashing in on her. What had I been thinking?

"What did you do, Marcie? You can tell me. If there's anything I can do to help, you know I will."

She started to tear up a little, her voice threatening to warble from her emotion. "Well," she choked a little. "I...I just couldn't leave well enough alone, and after our fantastic day on Sunday, I came to a really stupid conclusion that you weren't just being nice to me...you were using me for some reason and I couldn't figure out why so I decided to audit you." It all came spilling out all at once along with tears and sobs. She closed her eyes and looked away from him, expecting the worst.

When he started laughing, she didn't know what to do. "Really? That's it? You audited me? Either you are the fastest auditor in the world, or the worst. What did you find out?" He was really laughing, truly amused at her discomfort.

She studied his eyes for any sense of anger, and while she thought she detected a flash of something, it flitted away before she could tell what it was. Instead, she found his laughter annoying -- here she'd practically put her head on a chopping block for him and he found it funny?

"I'm sorry," he gasped out between lungfuls of laughter. "I have to say, Marcie, I could fall in love with you in a heartbeat. That was probably the funniest thing I've heard in my entire lifetime."

She thought he might be patronizing her and was ready to kick him out, but every time she looked at him, he was truly amused, as if she had done something so extraordinary it never would have occurred to him. Wait...what did he just say? He could love me? Shit!

"I...I don't understand, Monty. I just violated a trust here...didn't I? I mean, I would be fucking outraged if you had done the same thing to me. I've acted horribly...what am I missing here?" Tears were flowing now, as much from her relief as her frustration at his reaction.

He caught his breath and took a long drink of water. Setting down the glass, he reached for her hands and looked her straight in the eyes. "Listen to me. If I haven't made it clear to you by now, please listen to what I'm saying: Money is of almost no interest to me in and of itself. It is a means to my ends. I have spent 25 years understanding my futures -- making money is child's play with that kind of vision -- futures that I never can truly predict but which I can bet better than even odds against.

"I really hope you can come to believe what I've experienced and what I'm pursuing. Money is trivial in the context of the real work I'm doing. Yes, I am disappointed at your lack of trust, but believe me, I think of that more as an opportunity for you to learn than of any slight against me. You know what I'm talking about, right?"

She felt humiliated and ashamed. He had pinned her exactly: she had shamed herself and rather than it being a threat to him, or to his trust in her, it was a revelation of her inadequacies. She felt ten years old, her awful faults under the spotlights. "Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?" She asked it quietly, knowing that to rebuild trust was almost impossible.

"Okay. Let me understand first. You say you audited me. Tell me exactly what that means." He studied her like a science experiment, his hands resting on the edge of the table, his body quiet.

She explained how the single sheeter worked and what she had uncovered.

"I'm impressed. I knew there was a reason I'm with Samuelson. Well, you pretty much know about my financial situation. You also seem to have a handle on my business interests, whether they're making money or not. But you didn't seem to put much merit in the non-profit / charitable side of the equation. I assume you saw I am involved in a variety of charities?"

"Of course...but...I mean...everyone contributes to charities as a way to protect their assets..."

"True...but I'm doing something a little different than merely making charitable contributions. Did you notice anything special about those non-profits?" He noted her confusion. "I'll save you the trouble. I don't contribute, I establish charities. You didn't take a good look at my contribution numbers, but I have funded several large charities well in excess of 50% of my earnings. My feeling is, I'd prefer to have my money go to the issues I believe in rather than leave them all up to the voters to decide."

She cocked her head at the figure. It didn't make sense. 50%? "I'm not sure I understand," her tone became business like. "You give away half your fortune, each year? Why didn't I see that in the reports?"

"Can't tell you that, but I can't give my money away fast enough, that's for sure. It's likely one of the reasons Forbes doesn't feature me more prominently."

She wiped away the tears from her cheek and tried to smile. She hadn't realized how heavy a burden the whole damn thing had been, and now all she wanted was for him to say goodbye or to find a way to get over it. He got up and came to embrace her, the sexual tension now clear to the both of them.

"It was a very stupid thing to do. I agree. I'm not sure what I can do here except to say I forgive you. As far as I'm concerned the matter is closed. But, I think you will need something more than that to feel you've 'atoned' for you sins. Am I sensing that?"

She nodded, squeezing him back with an embrace.

"Okay...I think I can help you there. It won't be easy for you, but I suspect that is what you need. Are you feeling better? Did you want to finish dinner or can't you eat?"

She realized she was still hungry. Hungrier than ever, actually. The tension of the past two days had left her empty -- emotionally drained and apparently famished. "Would you mind if we finished dinner first? I'm apparently starving."

His smile calmed her as he sat back down.

* - * - *

"Would you mind giving me a tour?"

They had finished and she had piled the dishes in the sink. She decided to do them later--she wasn't sure when his "lesson," as she had begun to think of it, would begin.

There were only a few rooms, nothing to speak of, and after she had shown them all to him, they returned to the living room couch.

"The best thing to do in these situations," he said stroking her jaw lightly, "is a ritual cleansing. It may get a little messy, but I don't want to do it in the bathroom. Does your dining room table have a leaf?"

She nodded and retrieved the extension from the coat closet. As he helped her put it in she wondered where this was leading.

"Okay...I saw a duvet on your bed, and...do you have a rain slicker or poncho?"

She couldn't begin to figure out what he was going to do with all of the items, or what it had to do with getting her over her guilt, but she dutifully collected the various bits. "I don't have a slicker...there's the shower curtain..." She really didn't want to take it off the rod if she could avoid it..."Oh, wait! Would a tarp work?" She retrieved the camping tarp from her bedroom closet and returned to the living room.

He had moved the cushions from the couch and put them on the dining room table, covered by the duvet, She brought over the tarp and stood watching, mostly useless and confused.

"We'll need a bowl with warm water and a wash cloth..." She left to collect the additional things.

"I think that will do. Okay. You ready?" He looked at her with those intense charcoal eyes, as if he was burning two holes through her.

She bit her lip and nodded, a little frightened and very nervous. "Will it hurt?"

He laughed a little. "Take off your clothes. Does a 'ritual cleansing' sound like it will hurt?" He watched as she unbuttoned her blouse and removed it. "It will be intense, but that's what I think you're looking for."

She lifted her right foot and slipped off her pump, repeating the operation with her left. She didn't think twice about getting undressed in her living room. It was one of the places she felt safe doing it. She panicked for a second, checking the curtains were closed and then continued. It didn't matter she was stripping in front of him. It added more to her growing sexual excitement. She unhooked her skirt and let it slip to the floor.

She didn't like leaving her clothes scattered around; she picked them up and neatly folded them on the couch before reaching behind and unhooking her bra. Still with her back to him, she shimmied out of her underwear and turned around to present herself to him.

"Earrings, too, love."

She blushed at the term, and at the same time realized her nipples were stiffening in the cool air. Putting her jewelry on the end table, she returned to stand next to him, not sure where she should put her hands. It was a little cooler than she liked; she wanted to hug herself to stay warm, but she didn't know if he expected her to stay exposed with her arms at her side. She kept them down.

"You really are one of the sexiest women I've ever met." He reached up and gently stroked her cheek, letting his fingers trail down her neck. Her wonderful neck. "Okay. Let's get you on the tarp for a second." He took it and spread it on the floor, directing her to stand on it.

"In the ashram, this was the very first thing the novitiates learned: to cleanse themselves of impure thoughts. I think it suits the situation, wouldn't you agree?"

She nodded, biting her lip and wondering what was going to happen.

"In some sacred acts, the ritual must be performed according to a prescribed sequence. But there are as many variations to the 'ritual cleansing' as there are teachers. There is no orthodoxy per se. The key is for you to focus on cleansing your mind and spirit." As he spoke he continued to draw his fingers down her body, sending shivers through her skin.

"Have you practiced Yoga?" He looked up to see her nod. "Are you familiar with Tadasana -- Mountain Pose?" Again she nodded. "Okay, this first part is best done if you are in Mountain Pose. In this case, though, place your feet about hip width apart."

She shifted her stance, looking down to make sure she had positioned her feet as he had requested. He was kneeling in front of her, his face just in front of her pubis and she felt a pulse of arousal at the thought he could just lean forward and kiss her. She resisted the urge to push into his face, focusing instead on his directions.

"Mountain Pose is tied to the ritual cleansing: both are extremely important to the practice while being fairly easy to do. Still there are subtleties to the pose that I need you to pay attention to. Let's start from the bottom up."

He touched her feet and directed her to raise her toes, spread them and plant them down, to focus on the three corners of her feet and to imagine the energy of the Earth beginning to flow into her legs. Moving his fingers up her shins, he had her focus on her knees, keeping them slightly locked but not tensed.

"Your quads are really important in this pose." He gently laid his palms on the front her thighs. "Turn them 'on' and feel how they support your upper body. This is crucial to keeping the flow of energy moving up from the Earth to your head." He lightly dragged his right palm across her skin moving his fingers between her legs, cupping her cunny and resting his finger tips inside the folds of her cheek. "This is the Mulha Banda -- Root Lock. You might know it as Klegle exercise."

She looked down, struggling to keep her thighs slightly tensed, her feet planted and her knees relaxed even as his fingers were pressing against her sex. She swallowed and resisted the urge again to press herself into his face.

"Try to tense these muscles here," he demonstrated by pressing the ball of his hand up into the band of muscle between her vagina and anus. "The best description I've heard is to try and cut off the flow of pee. That's it." He could feel her muscles tighten, and watched her abs constrict slightly. "It's a challenge, but try not to tense your stomach muscles."