An Affair With My Boss (2 page)

             
John returned to me at the bar, and in my shocked state, he managed to convince me to sit next to him, silently ordering another round for us.  The bartender shuffled off with a “yes, sir” as if nothing had happened.

             
Meticulously, John began to unbutton his sleeves again, allowing them to hang loose as he patted the crucifix on his chest, almost like he was drawing strength from it.

             
“I’m sorry if that man was your ride, what, your boyfriend?” He waited for me to nod before continuing.  “There’s no need for you to go out into the chill tonight.  You can stay in my penthousehouse suite.  I tend to live up there more than my wife approves, but it’s like a second home to me.”

             
“I’m sorry, what?” I finally said, my thoughts catching up with the lag in time.

             
“I’m John Krasner,” he said with a smile to snare me once again.

             
I shook his hand.  “Alice,” I replied.

             
“Alice,” he cooed, “How would you like a job?”

2

              That first night I did not go up to the suite with John.  As much as I wanted to help John take off his rumpled clothing and join him for a promised bottle of champagne, I couldn’t help but think of Tom getting his beer-soaked head smashed into the bar, face red and frozen in a horrible scream.  It wasn't a familiar attraction that had me thinking of Tom; it was a cold pity I knew was not healthy.

             
All the same, John insisted that I start a new job as a waitress tomorrow.  I had to laugh at first, but he told me how much I would be making, and I felt like calling my boss right there with a prompt and overdue “fuck you.”

             
I went home in a daze with nothing set in stone, John still waiting expectantly in the empty bar of his casino, watching me leave.  I didn’t see Tom that night, or for the next few days.  Though I tried to call him, he never answered, and I wondered if it was over between us.  I could understand if he felt shame for what had happened, but a part of me wanted to make my relationship with Tom work. 

Tom was the first man
I’d dated in a long time, after my last stint with Greg, an abusive fuck who found pleasure in keeping me from a second life outside of the home, even from my job.  Tom had helped me trust men again.  He hadn’t pushed for any of the usual staples of a normal relationship.  We were yet to move in together, for what I figured was his own insecurity of living with another person.  It wasn't until months later that we finally did have sex.  Greg had constantly ridiculed me for my body, insisting that I make love to him with most of my clothing on.  In reality, I was an attractive woman, strawberry blonde hair, a round face, sharp nose, and a wide set of hips to accentuate my figure.

             
I was almost thirty, and had nothing to show for my strong standing career as a waitress in a local restaurant in town.  This was something I quickly realized after meeting John, who held so much esteem, so much prowess over his empire and the people below him.  In that respect, it wasn't difficult for me to finally make the decision to quit one day, when a sorry customer spit on my shirtfront when I accidentally stepped on his toe.  I upended the bowl of soup in his lap and stormed out the door.

             
That day I ended up at the casino, searching the floor for John.  In the carnival lights and sounds of the expansive room, my head became light and I rode the wave of my belligerence through the buzzing crowds of people, bumping elbows, and wincing with the close screams of some lucky winner.

             
And then a hand materialized out of the crowd and pulled me to an empty corner near the penny slot machines.  I was so happy to see John, dressed in his usual suit and tie, sweater vest and minimalist crucifix, I almost forgot to speak.

             
He spoke for me, indicating the black fishbowl cameras in the ceiling above our head.

             
“I saw you almost instantly from the control room,” John told me.  “You will rarely find me on the floor.  Next time you need to find me, just look up at the ceiling and wink.” He broke off to demonstrate it to me, which forced me to smile.  “I’ll come running.”

             
“Is that job still on the table?” I asked him.

             
He beamed, throwing his arm around my shoulder.  His sour cologne washed over me, his warmth pressing against the skin beneath my clothing.

             
Right away he took me into one of the locker rooms and showed me the uniform I would wear, which dropped my stomach a few floors.  I shouldn’t have been surprised, because I’d already noticed the many cocktail waitresses that swarmed the floor, delivering complimentary glasses of beer to the players.  The uniform consisted of a black skirt, well above the knees and a low cut top without straps or sleeves.  I could wear hose on under my skirt, though it called to mind fishnet stockings from some smutty girl magazine.

             
I asked him if the salary was still paying the same amount.

             
“I will take care of you,” he said.  “As long as you’re working for me, you’ll never have to worry about money again.”

             
This sent my mind reeling, and I wasn't sure how to process this information.  I knew what he wanted, just as much as
he
knew.  The way he leaned his shoulder against the nearest locker, hands folded in front of him, spoke louder than his words.  He stared expectantly into my face, bent over slightly to measure at my height.  I felt my stomach drop again, and then my head lifted with a surge of endorphins, enough to carry me down the stream of my own ecstasy.

             
“How is your friend?” he asked me suddenly, shaking me out of my dream.

             
“Tom? I haven’t spoken with him actually.”

             
“He never even called you to make sure you were okay?” John frowned and stood upright.  “It’s been two days, and he couldn’t even be a man about it.  What a shame.  But another man’s mistake, is another’s advantage.”

             
“I still love him,” I said, but without much conviction.  My face went flush when he leaned in to study me carefully.  I wasn't sure why I said it, or if it was even true.

             
“Do you need help with that?” John asked, indicating the uniform on the hanger.

3

             
For the third time that week, I was in bed with John.  The first time we had made love, we went up to his penthouse suite as he’d offered the night I met him, on the top floor of the casino.  This was on my second day on the job, dressed in my skirt and halter-top, the fanny pack around my hip bulging with the tips of so many faceless customers.  I had finally submitted to checking out his suite, which was as beautiful as he boasted it to be.  It resembled a fine hotel room, barely even touched.  There were long windows in the far wall, a terrace, a couch that wrapped around the entire room, and a TV as tall as the ceiling.

             
I almost found the room to be as overwhelming as the gaming floor, my eyes glazing over the tinkle of lights in the chandelier, in the mirrors in the ceiling, in the walls, and the soft lighting of the bedroom, left on just for us.

             
After a few glasses of champagne, John told me that we could both take the rest of the day off.  This pleased me to no end and I didn’t need to be told twice to strip off my uniform.  I thought it stunk and wanted very much to throw it away.  When I told John this, he stripped off his own suit right in front of me, inciting me to do the same.  He took the bundle of our clothing and threw it over the terrace balcony, causing us both to erupt in fitted laughter.  Then he took my hips in his hands, and we kissed for the first time, edging slowly toward the bed as if in a strange kind of side-step dance.

In the chaos of our
joining limbs and hot breathing, I remembered him flipping me around, so that he was on top.  He had dug his knees into the mattress, while lifting my legs up onto his shoulders.  I was most surprised when he screamed with a red face, cords standing out on his neck, howling up at the ceiling like an animal as he finished.

             
On the third visit to his room, he asked to be choked from behind.  I hesitated at first, but soon gave in, but it wasn't to his satisfaction.  He offered to demonstrate on me, as reluctant as I was.  With a soothing satin tone, he repositioned himself behind me, his knees digging into the mattress.  He told me to breathe as his strong arm tightened over my throat.  Uncomfortably, I slapped my hands against the wall to brace myself as he penetrated me from behind, nails digging into the wall and my breasts pushed against his headboard.  I saw stars, my breath tapering through the narrow straw of my breathing canal.  Amazingly though, my head and solar plexus erupted with fireworks of energy, lightning conducting up and down my spine.  I thought I might actually burst out of my own skin under the storm of sparks kicked up between our pressed bodies, if it wasn't for his strong arms grounding me to the earth. 

             
After awhile I forgot to breathe, content with the coursing waves, crashing against the cliffs of my body, which I imagined was something like a rocket, ready to take to the air with one last surge, one last scream of elation.  I forgot about everything during those minutes in bed with him.  Tom, my job, and my home were all forgotten.  Perhaps my name was even gone, replaced with my unique sensation of weightlessness, as though I was leaving my body.

When finished
, we fell into each other’s arms.  While he slipped into sleep with my head on his chest, I watched the skin on my neck grow redder and redder in the mirror on the ceiling.  I wondered what else we could get away with.  I wondered how far we could really go. 

             
There in the bed, with the beautiful man asleep in his arms, I thought about Tom, who had simply dropped off the earth.  I had even stopped by his place earlier that week, but I could not rouse him at all.  This made me think I should call the police, but it would seem that I was the only one that missed Tom.  What had become of him? I wondered if he left town, or perhaps had gotten himself into more trouble.  Did John know anything about it?

             
On our fourth visit to the suite, I intended to brace the subject.  I didn’t know how to bring it up exactly, but knew I had plenty of time.  Whenever we ventured up to the top suite, we never went back down to work, which is partly why I loved going to work so much.  I didn’t even have to do my job, and my paychecks came all the same.  We stayed up there until the casino closed, getting drunk on a limitless supply of booze, and screwing like rabbits on every piece of furniture we could find.  Sometimes we even spent the night, rolling out of bed in the late morning to change for work downstairs.  John insisted that it was important to make an appearance before we returned later that afternoon for another go.

             
We rarely talked about our personal lives.  I knew that John was married.  I had never seen his wife, and tried not to think too much about it.  I could admit to feeling an ounce of guilt for our adultery, as well as for Tom, who fit somewhere within our dirty picture.  Yet I had never felt happier or more rewarded at my job or with my boss, who seemed like he was part of my soul, more than just a lover.  I figured that we weren’t hurting anyone, just ourselves, even though self-destruction felt so good.

             
“Do you know what happened to Tom?” I asked him as soon as we entered the suite.

             
John didn’t look at me.  He strode across the room to our own private bar and set about making us some drinks.

             
“No,” he said.  “I haven’t seen him in the casino for awhile.”

             
“I haven’t seen him at all.” I tried to read his face, but his expression was so blank, his attention spent solely on the cocktail mixer in his hands.  “I’m starting to get worried.”

             
“He’s keeping his distance,” John replied, “as he should.  If I see his face in here again, I will personally make sure he gets the message.”

             
I felt my heart twinge uncomfortably.  How dangerous was this man, really? Did I know him at all? Sometimes I liked to pretend that I did, but I was becoming ever more unsure.

             
When we went to bed John laid me out on my back and stooped over me, smiling and sliding his fingers across my midriff.  I squealed with a ticklish fit, squirming under the strengthening hold on my arms, pinning me to the mattress.  Reaching blindly between his legs, I took hold of him and he breathed harshly into my face.  He closed his eyes, smiling up at the ceiling.  When I closed my own eyes, Tom swam in my mind, his red face screaming, and eyes blazing in the dark. 

             
And then the pressure on my chest became too much, John’s dead weight crushing my ribcage, his fingers starting to snake around my neck.  While he kissed my neck, I struggled, my breath nonexistent.  I wasn't ready, but he couldn’t stop.  The pressure between my legs became even greater as he forced himself inside me.  The last shred of my breath was torn out of me, my mouth gasping expectantly for air.  He grabbed my throat and squeezed, and his other hand pinned my wrist to the bed.  He worked his way inside me, grinding his teeth, and drooling into my hair.  My eyes were bugging and my face went purple.  I could feel all the veins in my body suddenly springing to life.  I thrashed and squealed, spat up saliva and pumped my hips.  There was a moment where I lost all sensation in my body, pulling up and out in a magnetic pull toward the ceiling.  I thought I could even see our bodies from above, John’s naked back, budding with sweat, and my red face gasping beneath his right shoulder, but that may have been a trick of the mirror.  Seconds later he rolled away with his mouth open in an expression of unmistakable reprieve. 

             
I burst to the surface, yelping and clutching at my throat.  Then I cursed under my breath.

             
“What the hell…were you…thinking?” I cried, bolting to my feet. 

             
“I thought you liked it that way,” John said from his back, unmoved.  The gold crucifix gleamed from his nest of chest hair, never a forgotten ornament on his person.

             
“Not that rough! You have to warn me before doing something like that!” I scrambled to find my clothes.

             
John sat up.  “No, don’t leave,” he said.  He reached out for me, but I ignored the gesture.  “Come on, you’re still going to stay, aren’t you?”

             
“Fuck you,” I spat.

             
John went to me and hugged me tight.  I tried to pull away, but gave up and succumbed to his hold.

             
“I have another job for you,” John said into my ear.  “It’s at my house, a private poker game I’m hosting for a few of my associates.  I want you to be there as a waitress.  They’re high rollers, so the tips will definitely keep you busy for awhile.”

             
“At your house?” I asked.

             
“Tomorrow night.” He tucked a strand of hair away from my naked back and kissed me between the shoulder blades.  “I’ll have a car pick you up.”