I don’t even know where to begin this entry, and I only have an hour to get to work at the restaurant. I just know that I don’t want to forget any details and I need to write them when I’m fresh. I’m certain I’ll look back at this at some point and crave the feelings and memories as clearly as they were in my mind tonight.
To start, Mark had me change clothes and then meet him at the gallery before the party. The entire staff knew I was attending the party with him and Mary was just plain mean. She popped into my office and said, “I guess it takes the right skirt to climb the ladder around here.” I assume she was calling me a slut; her tone said she was. It wasn’t easy to remind myself she was probably feeling threatened and bite my tongue, but I did.
Mark and I rode to the party in his Jaguar. I don’t even HAVE a car, so it was a luxurious ride for me, for sure. And being in that car alone with him was impossibly intimate. I swear, when I am with him, I feel him in every part of me. I think he feels it, too. Or maybe not. But even if there is an attraction between us, it can’t work out. He’s my boss and he has another woman.
Ricco’s home is in a ritzy area of the city and it’s elegant in every possible way. And Ricco himself is not only fabulously talented, he’s striking in person. Not beautiful like Mark, but there’s something about the way his sharp features and deep-set eyes come together. Very arrogant and regal, almost hard. But I also sensed a softer part of him that I think is part of his creativity. I really bonded with Ricco and he stayed by my side most of the night; he even invited me to have coffee with him next week. I thought Mark would be pleased, but for some reason he wasn’t. He kept watching me with Ricco, and more than once, he appeared in the middle of our conversation and just listened. Maybe he was evaluating how I handle clients. I can’t be sure.
Despite Mark’s irritation with me, when the night was over he offered to drive me home. He walked me to my door and I swear he wanted . . . something. Not a kiss. It’s not that simple with Mark. Maybe he wanted to fuck me, but I didn’t let my mind go there. I just stood there, trying to figure out what it was he wanted.
What was it that I wanted? The only word that comes to mind is “more” for me. For him, I had this uneasy moment of thinking “too much.” Mark would want too much, and somehow it would never be enough. I have no idea why I feel this, but I do. It’s insanity for my mind to be in this place anyway. He’s my boss. He might be able to separate whatever that “too much” is, but could I? Would I end up ruining my dream for mere hot sex, over and done with?
Yes. I’m beginning to think that is where this could go, and I won’t let it. Or maybe I’m imagining the whole thing. Mark still calls me Ms. Mason and I call him Mr. Compton. He hasn’t touched me. He hasn’t made one remark that is even remotely sexual. I have no reason to believe we are headed toward naked and starving for each other, unless it’s in my dreams. And that is one dream that I’m confident I could recall in vivid detail . . .
Sunday, January 2, 2011