A Quiet Kind of Dominance novel · Chapter 3 of 24
Chapter 3: The Pad
Martha takes his account so no conflict stands, and Audrey has him write his yes list and his no list.
On Thursday morning I walked into Martha Abernathy's office and shut the door behind me.
Martha looked up over her red reading glasses.
She was sixty-two, with short silver hair and a lavender cardigan, and she had caught more fraud than any woman in Allegheny County.
"That is your serious face," she said.
"I need to hand you a client."
"Which one?"
"Dombrowski's."
"The shouting chef." Martha set down her pen. "The one on television."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I'm going to see him outside work, and I won't be his accountant while I do."
Martha took off her glasses.
She cleaned them on her cardigan, slowly, which is how she buys time.
"Is he a good man?" she said.
"He's a frightened one."
"That isn't what I asked."
"He's good. I'm sure of it."
"And you?"
"I'm very sure of what I want."
"I've known you nine years, Audrey. You're always sure."
"This time I'm sure and it's sudden."
She put the glasses back on.
"Fine. Send me the file. I'll take over the filings, and I'll sign the next engagement letter myself. Your fee ends today."
"It was flat. It was never tied to anything but the books."
"I know. I'm only saying so out loud, so nobody ever wonders."
"Thank you."
"Go on. You look like you slept four hours."
I had slept six.
It was Hank who looked like he'd slept four, I thought, when he came up the stairs that evening at seven.
He had cut his hair.
It was short and neat, and he had on a clean white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.
He held the yellow pad in both hands.
"Sit," I said. "On the couch. I'll sit beside you."
We sat.
I took the pad from him and turned to the first page.
It was full.
He had written in small square capitals, pressing hard.
YES.
Being told when to sit and when to eat.
Being told to be quiet.
Being kissed until I forget my own name.
Praise. A lot of it.
Her hand in my hair.
Not knowing what is next, but knowing it will be good.
Being made to wait.
Being told I can come.
I read the page slowly while he watched me read.
Three times I had to stop and breathe, because it was a very honest list.
"This is good," I said.
He let out a long breath.
"I didn't know if you'd think it was-"
"It's good. It's exactly what I asked for."
I turned the page.
NO.
Being hit hard. Nothing that leaves a mark.
Anything to do with my throat.
Being laughed at.
Any of this in front of people, unless I say so first.
Being left alone afterward.
Her leaving angry and not saying.
Being called a name I did not ask for.
I read the last line again.
Being left alone afterward.
"Is that the one that matters most?" I asked.
He looked at his knees.
"After service, the kitchen empties. Everyone goes home."
He shrugged one shoulder.
"I sit in the walk-in until the compressor kicks on. It's quiet in there. It's the loneliest minute of my day."
"You're not alone afterward. Not with me. That's a rule."
"A rule."
"The first one."
I took the pen from my pocket and wrote it at the top of a fresh page.
1. Afterward, nobody leaves.
He stared at the line.
"Now the third page," I said.
He gave it to me with a shaky hand.
MAYBE.
Being tied. I think. Soft things, not rope.
Being blindfolded.
Being told no, when I ask.
Being watched.
Her sitting on my face.
I made a small sound before I could stop it.
He went red to the ears.
"Sorry. I wasn't sure what to put."
"You put exactly the right thing."
"It's on the maybe list."
"Then we'll find out." My voice was unsteady and I let it be. "Now. I need to give you something too."
I took a pen and wrote the next line.
2. One word stops everything. Anytime. No questions. No sulking.
"What word?" he said.
"You choose it."
He thought about it.
"Salt."
"Salt."
"It's the one thing I'd miss in a dish. If it's missing, you stop and fix it."
"That's a good reason."
I wrote it under the rule.
SALT.
"If you say it, I stop, and we sit, and I hold you. Nothing else. Is that clear?"
"Yes."
"Say it back."
"Salt means stop. Nobody's angry. You hold me."
"Good."
His whole body relaxed at the word.
I could see it happen, the way a shoulder drops when a heavy bag is set down.
"Pause is different," I said. "Pause means slow down, or I need a moment, and we go on afterward. Do you understand?"
"Pause. Salt."
"Good. Rule three."
I wrote it.
3. I tell you what I'm going to do before I do it, if it's new.
"You don't have to-"
"I do. That's the whole point of me. You don't have to guess."
He turned toward me on the couch and I felt the heat come off him in a wave.
"Audrey."
"Yes."
"Can I touch you?"
"Not yet. You ask me to touch you when I say you may ask."
"I'm asking if I may ask."
I laughed, a real one, and he grinned, wide, and for a second he looked about twenty.
"Yes," I said. "You may ask."
"May I touch your face?"
"Yes."
He lifted a hand that smelled of soap and lemon.
His fingers touched my cheek with a care so large that it hurt to feel.
"Thank you," he said.
"For what?"
"For not laughing at my list."
"Hank." I leaned into his palm. "I'm going to keep that list in a locked drawer for as long as I live."
His eyes went bright.
I took his hand off my cheek and kissed the center of it.
Then I took the pad, and I wrote one more line, very small, in the corner.
"What does that say?" he asked.
I turned it around.
4. The fee has nothing to do with this. Ever.
"Martha has your file," I said. "I'm not your accountant anymore. I never billed you for anything but the books."
He nodded.
"If you ever feel owed, or in debt, or bought, you say Salt on the whole thing."
He read it twice.
"I'm not buying you."
"No. I know."
"I'm not paying for this."
"I know. Write your name under it."
He took the pen and signed in square capitals.
H. DOMBROWSKI.
I signed under him.
N. WETHERELL.
We looked at the two names for a long time.
Something I had imagined for years was now written down, and I felt it settle under me.
"You have one more line on your list," I said. "At the bottom of page one, in the corner."
He covered his face.
"Don't read that."
"I'm going to."
I turned back.
Very small, in the corner, so faint I had missed it:
I want to be good for someone.
I put the pad on the table.
I took his wrists, gently, and drew his hands down from his face.
"You already are," I said.
He kissed me then without asking, and I let him, because it was the one thing he had not needed to be told.
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