Chapter 20. JOHNSON
The flight from New York’s LaGuardia to Trudeau airport in Montreal was a short hour and a half. Dick had booked us on a noon Air Canada flight so I could get my beauty sleep and we didn’t have to battle commuter traffic through Brooklyn. The limo to the airport pulled up in front of my building at 9am, allowing plenty of time for Jimmy to haul my luggage downstairs and load it into the black car. On his own, Dick was a last minute out the door, sleek traveler with one suitcase and his iPad. But when we traveled together, he liked to allow plenty of time for doormen and porters to manage my bags. Today I noticed a new Tumi briefcase on the floor by his feet, his initials embossed in gold on the front. RJG.
“Good morning RJG,” I said sliding across the seat and leaning in for a kiss.
“Good morning. Are you all set?” He asked, waiting for my confirmation before nodding to the driver.
“Nice briefcase.” I commented as we pulled out onto Second Avenue.
“I was talking to Reggie at the Tumi store and he said it had just come in. Fits my iPad and all the chargers.”
“Nice monogram RJG. So what is your middle name Richard Grand?” It was one of the first questions I had asked Dick when we met, and he had teased me with his usual evasive response, “Ask me something you really want to know.”
“Johnson.” He told me without hesitation. Just like that, almost three years later, and “Johnson” pops out. I laughed at my own mental wording: Johnson pops out. I was looking forward to that.
“Good name.” I told him.
“Coffee? Water? We’ve got it all.” He offered.
“Thanks, water please. Just remind me to toss it before we get to security.”
Once we were in the air and the steward had served coffee, I let my hand rest on Dick’s arm and fondled the fabric lovingly. “Dick, can we talk about the fur show, please?”
“Sure, Lori, what about it?”
“I don’t have a mink coat. I’m a New York lady, and it’s a big gap in my wardrobe. It would be really special if you got me one this weekend.” I spoke softly and hoped he would surprise me with a yes just as easily as Johnson had popped out. Tee hee, every time I thought of his middle name I held back a giggle.
“Lori, enjoy the fur show,” he said with denial in his voice.
“But Dick, you always tell me to ask you what I really want. And I really want a mink coat.”
“I always tell you to ask me something you really want to know.” He corrected my phraseology.
“Well, I really want to know if you will please buy me a mink coat this weekend.”
“Is that what you really want to know? Well I guess I was wrong.” He shook his head as if he had just learned condoms weren’t foolproof.
I plowed forward, disregarding his confusing comment for the moment, “Dick, stop teasing me. You know how I’ve been wanting a mink.”
He took a sip of coffee then accepted the newspaper the steward offered as he walked by. A headline caught his attention and effectively stonewalled the mink coat conversation. There was nothing for me to do but pick up my coffee cup and reach for the Vogue magazine I had tucked into the seatback compartment.
The bustle of deplaning in Montreal and finding our luggage took all our attention and waylaid further conversation. The taxi ride into the city was a noisy, stop and go hour of highways and car fumes, cutting off any desire or intention to revisit the topic of the fur show.
Mercy and Rod were ahead of us in line to check in as we approached the reservations counter. Amid cheers and greetings, introductions to friends and attendees, we got caught up in the excitement and plans for dinner.
“We’re all on the Executive Floor.” Mercy told Dick, “Axel and Randelle are already upstairs. Shall we say cocktails in the Club Lounge on the 25th floor at 6? Then we can meet the rest of the group for dinner at 7.”
“Lori,” Dick turned to me, “Did you get that?”
“Cocktails at 6,” I repeated.
In our room on the Executive Floor, I called to him from the bathroom, “We’re sharing a bathroom.”
“We’re good at that.” Dick appeared in the doorway to the bathroom. He stood both arms raised to grip the door posts on either side, blocking the door.
“Sir,” I teased in mock apprehension, “You hold me prisoner in this single bathroom.”
“My Lady,” he replied, “You have but one way out, and that’s into my arms and into my bed.”
Dick was sensual and sexy, but I had never heard him role play. When we screwed it was hot and heavy, but every inch Dick and Lorelei. There was no Lord or Lady about it. I wondered if this was a way to apologize for his mean spirit over the mink coat, and I was willing to play along.
I scurried into his arms, “Oh, My Lord, I implore, be gentle!”
Lifting me by the waist, he twirled me across the room onto the big bed. He tossed back the bedspread to reveal clean white sheets, and with similar gallantry, stripped my lower half in one swift pull. My underwear and pants were tangled around my ankles like ropes. I couldn’t move to join him or resist him. His legs straddled me as he tore off his belt, unzipped his fly and propelled an already rigid johnson into me with disregard for anything but his urgent desire.
I wailed in distress as Dick’s hips drove forward again and again, in relentless penetration. I moaned in submission as my fluids oozed and the rub of his erection excited every nerve in my body. I roared in triumph as our bodies reached climax together, with his final heaving ram into my deepest parts.
His fever released by the out lash of passion, Dick fell to the side, limp on the bed. Still unable to move, with my legs in a jumble, I lay where he left me.
After several quiet moments, I asked, “Are you satisfied my Lord?” There was no hint of charm in my question.
“Uh?” Dick mumbled.
“Would you mind releasing my legs and rescuing my tortured pants?” I suggested more than requested. When he didn’t move, I questioned, “Dick?”
“Oh, Lori, yeah, sure.” He pushed himself up and reached to unknot my feet. “Sorry,” he said as he held up my twisted garments.
“Are you okay?” I asked, as he still seemed muddled.
“Huh? Oh, I’m fine. You okay?”
“I’m confused.” I replied genuinely. “That was not gentle, my Lord. I like a bit of role play as much as the next girl, but that kind of verged on plunder?” I raised my voice in a question to avoid sounding like I was accusing him of assault. In fact, it was consensual. I never said no or stop. I had rushed into his eager arms. In my befuddled thoughts I remembered an interview I had seen on television the week before about date rape on college campuses. Stop it Lori. I dragged my thoughts back to the present conversation.
“Lori? No! Did I hurt you?” He sounded surprised that he might have done something unintended. He reached for me, stroked my leg, and then my shoulder as he gently pulled me into an embrace. He leaned back and looked into my eyes for acceptance, then kissed my cheeks and softly worked his way to my warm lips.
“No.” I assured him, “I might be walking funny at dinner, but I’m okay.”
We rested on the bed for several minutes, my head on his shoulder in our favorite snuggle. My thoughts drifted to asking him about the mink coat. Little bit of guilt might go a long way to soften him into saying yes. Maybe if I winced a little, or groaned as I moved.
“Dick.” I purred, “Maybe you…” And I scolded myself in English and in French, after all we were in Montreal. Shut up, Lori. Tais-tois. Fermez la bouche. Shut your mouth. I started again, “Maybe you should take a shower first, it’s after 5.”
“Hey, Beautiful, good point.” He released his arm from under my neck and headed to the bathroom, “I’ll be 3 minutes.” It’s what he always said.
My Dick, I thought. He’ll hand me the credit card tomorrow, he will. And with that confirming thought, I finished unpacking, hung my dress on a hanger so it could steam while I showered, and passed Dick as he exited the bathroom three minutes later.
There was a lot of chatter about the fur show over drinks with the wives. Mercy gushed that Rod contacted one of the Angiriou brothers to tell him to bring a big bunch of wild fox furs to the show.
“Rod Honey.” She called down the bar to where the guys were talking business. “Who’d you talk to over there at Angiriou?” She pronounced it “an gerry oh” with her Kentucky drawl.
“Mercy? You mean Gene? The older brother,” he shouted back.
“Thanks doll,” she shouted, then turned back to the ladies. “Gene. He’s going to fix me up just right.”
At dinner with the larger group of conference attendees, Mercy and Rod entertained everyone with escapades of their horse farm and the excitement of the Kentucky Derby.
“Mercy,” Rod chided, “Don’t bore these people all over again, I’m sure we told them last July, when we were all in Atlantic City.”
“Oh hush, you ’ole horse farmer,” she told him. “It’s worth hearing again! So Rod put his money on our friend’s gelding, to win. Funny Cide. Isn’t that a crazy name? And I put my bundle on Empire Maker to place. Funny Cide is a New Yorker. Dick you should have taken a tip. But Empire Maker is bred on home grass, right in Kentucky. That horse has great bloodlines.”
“Mercy, you do know how to draw out a tale.” Rod teased her, but was clearly eager for her to tell the story of his victory.
“Oh, Foot!” Mercy waved her hand and continued, “And our little Emma, my granddaughter, she’s 7 years old now, she put her pennies on Peace Rules to show. She just liked his name. Peace and all. Rod, you tell ’em what happened. This is a great story.”
Rod picked up right where Mercy left off. “Don’t you know, we won the trifecta! Funny Cide won, Empire Maker placed and Peace Rules showed! We had individual tickets and then I put a wad on all three, and we won the trifecta! At the Kentucky Derby!”
“And that takes care of Emma’s coming out party, and her wedding too!” Mercy laughed. I thought to myself, and Mercy’s fox coat too!
Dick was up and out early in the morning to attend a program on international exchange rates, or something like that. I slept through breakfast and soaked in a hot tub before meeting Randelle in the Club Lounge for a coffee and croissants. I glanced at the desk where Dick kept his keys and wallet, but there was no credit card waiting for me. That’s okay, I told myself, this morning is only a first look and a runway show.
The couples came together for lunch at Bonaparte’s, known for its fine wines and classic French menu. I kept it light with two appetizers, enjoying a salad and the wild game pate. Dick enjoyed duck confit and a classic apple pie a la mode for dessert. I had a taste.
As the last sips of wine went down, the couples said goodbye before we went our separate ways until dinner. The men were heading back to the conference for a speaker from Scotland, and the women were off to art galleries and of course, the fur show.
Dick squeezed my hand and leaned in for a kiss on the cheek. The sight of Rod passing Mercy a glittery platinum credit card did not distract him.
“I wish Mercy and Randelle weren’t going to that fur show.” I grouched, “It would be so much less embarrassing if we just went to the art gallery.”
“Go to the art galleries. You’ll have a good time.” Dick said.
“But I’m really looking forward to trying on some furs,” I insisted. “I saw one on the runway this morning that looked perfect for Saturday night theater.” Dick didn’t say anything, so I continued, “Dick, do you want to come with me to just look at the minks?” He shook his head no. “If I pick out a mink coat, can I charge it to the room?” He shook his head no, kissed me on the cheek and called to Rod to wait up.
The rest of the day was a blur. I petted mink coats and complimented as Mercy and Randelle chose their favorites. Everything was being tailored and monogrammed, and would be shipped to the States to avoid international tariffs, so at least it wasn’t obvious that I was the only one leaving Montreal without a fur. But I knew, and I was furious at Dick Grand for making me feel second class and cheated. Cheated! Not a wife and no mink coat.