Read Online Exit to Eden by Anne Rice - Free Book Online
Authors: Anne Rice
Tags: Fiction, Suspense, Erótica, Romance, Contemporary, Sex, Man-Woman Relationships, Love Stories, Erotic Fiction, New Orleans (La.), Rich people, Photojournalists, Nightclubs
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"Now get the hairbrush and quickly, and I want some cool Chanel to splash on my face."
I jabbed the button on my desk as soon as she was on her way to the dresser.
She kept the Chanel cold for me in a little refrigerator in the dressing room and she brought it with a clean flannel cloth.
I patted my cheeks with it as she brushed my hair. No one brushes it quite as well as she does it. She knows how to do it.
The door opened before she was finished. Daniel, my favorite attendant, was there.
"Good to see you back, Lisa, we've missed you," he said. He glanced at Diana. "Richard says the slaves will be in the hall in forty-five minutes. And he needs you. Special matter now."
Worst luck.
"All right, Daniel." I gestured for Diana to stop with the brushing. I turned her, looked at her. She bowed her head, her white hair falling down around her. "I'm going to be very busy," I said. "I want Diana worked."
I could feel her mild shock. The hottest moments for us were always right after we'd been separated, and in the late afternoon there would be time, wouldn't there? And she knew that, of course.
"Count Solosky's here, Lisa. He's already asked for her, been told no."
"Yes, good old Count Solosky who wants to make an international star out of her, right?"
"That's the one," Daniel said.
"Make him a present of her. Bind her nicely with ribbon, something like that."
Diana threw me a stunned look, but she was pouting beautifully.
"If he doesn't have any immediate use for her, see that she's worked in the bar until very late."
"She hasn't displeased you, Lisa."
"Not at all. I'm just suffering from jet lag. We circled for two hours up there."
The phone was ringing.
"Lisa, we need you in the office." It was Richard.
"Just got in, Richard. Give me twenty minutes, and I'll be there." I put down the phone.
Diana and Daniel were gone. Blessed quiet.
I took another long cool drink of the gin as I opened the folder again.
"Elliott Slater. Berkeley, California… Trained in San Francisco by Martin Halifax."
Not just home, those places—Berkeley, San Francisco—where you go to suffer the particular penance called vacation. No. They were the landmarks of the long journey that had brought me to this very island, this very room.
In a half daze, it seemed I remembered things, or rather reinvoked them—the way it had all started. And in the beginning there had been no Martin Halifax for me.
******
I saw the first hotel room where I had ever made love, if that is what it is called, remembering that steamy and forbidden encounter, the smell of the leather, the lovely feeling of abandoning all control.
Was there any heat like that first heat? How strange it had been, those long hours beforehand of dreaming about it—a ruthless master, a cruel master, a drama of punishment and submission without real hurt—not daring to describe it to another living soul, and then meeting Barry, handsome as the boys in the romance comics, in of all places the University Library in Berkeley, just a few blocks from home for me, and having him ask so casually about the book I was reading, the dreary imaginings of masochists chronicled by their psychiatrists that proved… what? That others like me existed, people that wanted to be bound, disciplined, tormented in the name of love.
And then his whisper in my ear on that typical first date that it was what he wanted, that he knew how to do it and well. He worked weekends as a bellhop in a small but elegant San Francisco hotel, we could go there now.
"Only as far as you want to go," he had said, the blood thudding in my ears when the kisses had done so little.
I'd been so terrified as I climbed the marble steps—we couldn't use the elevators from the front lobby—criminals together as he unlocked the dark little suite. Yet it was precisely what I wanted, yes. Strange surroundings. And his firmness, his direction, his unerring sense of timing, and limits, and how to push them ever so gently.
It
I jabbed the button on my desk as soon as she was on her way to the dresser.
She kept the Chanel cold for me in a little refrigerator in the dressing room and she brought it with a clean flannel cloth.
I patted my cheeks with it as she brushed my hair. No one brushes it quite as well as she does it. She knows how to do it.
The door opened before she was finished. Daniel, my favorite attendant, was there.
"Good to see you back, Lisa, we've missed you," he said. He glanced at Diana. "Richard says the slaves will be in the hall in forty-five minutes. And he needs you. Special matter now."
Worst luck.
"All right, Daniel." I gestured for Diana to stop with the brushing. I turned her, looked at her. She bowed her head, her white hair falling down around her. "I'm going to be very busy," I said. "I want Diana worked."
I could feel her mild shock. The hottest moments for us were always right after we'd been separated, and in the late afternoon there would be time, wouldn't there? And she knew that, of course.
"Count Solosky's here, Lisa. He's already asked for her, been told no."
"Yes, good old Count Solosky who wants to make an international star out of her, right?"
"That's the one," Daniel said.
"Make him a present of her. Bind her nicely with ribbon, something like that."
Diana threw me a stunned look, but she was pouting beautifully.
"If he doesn't have any immediate use for her, see that she's worked in the bar until very late."
"She hasn't displeased you, Lisa."
"Not at all. I'm just suffering from jet lag. We circled for two hours up there."
The phone was ringing.
"Lisa, we need you in the office." It was Richard.
"Just got in, Richard. Give me twenty minutes, and I'll be there." I put down the phone.
Diana and Daniel were gone. Blessed quiet.
I took another long cool drink of the gin as I opened the folder again.
"Elliott Slater. Berkeley, California… Trained in San Francisco by Martin Halifax."
Not just home, those places—Berkeley, San Francisco—where you go to suffer the particular penance called vacation. No. They were the landmarks of the long journey that had brought me to this very island, this very room.
In a half daze, it seemed I remembered things, or rather reinvoked them—the way it had all started. And in the beginning there had been no Martin Halifax for me.
******
I saw the first hotel room where I had ever made love, if that is what it is called, remembering that steamy and forbidden encounter, the smell of the leather, the lovely feeling of abandoning all control.
Was there any heat like that first heat? How strange it had been, those long hours beforehand of dreaming about it—a ruthless master, a cruel master, a drama of punishment and submission without real hurt—not daring to describe it to another living soul, and then meeting Barry, handsome as the boys in the romance comics, in of all places the University Library in Berkeley, just a few blocks from home for me, and having him ask so casually about the book I was reading, the dreary imaginings of masochists chronicled by their psychiatrists that proved… what? That others like me existed, people that wanted to be bound, disciplined, tormented in the name of love.
And then his whisper in my ear on that typical first date that it was what he wanted, that he knew how to do it and well. He worked weekends as a bellhop in a small but elegant San Francisco hotel, we could go there now.
"Only as far as you want to go," he had said, the blood thudding in my ears when the kisses had done so little.
I'd been so terrified as I climbed the marble steps—we couldn't use the elevators from the front lobby—criminals together as he unlocked the dark little suite. Yet it was precisely what I wanted, yes. Strange surroundings. And his firmness, his direction, his unerring sense of timing, and limits, and how to push them ever so gently.
It
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