RED SOX: The boys have gathered again in Florida. Won't be long now until they're running around the bases at Fenway!
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The rumbling vibration from the cell phone on the nightstand got Tristan moving before she even opened her eyes. She stifled a groan as her shoulder was jarred when she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Ignoring the flash of pain, her left hand grabbed for the disruptive device. Its rattle was immediately stilled by her thumb. There was no need to check the display screen. She knew who was sending her a message.
"Oh, come on," Sage grumbled when Tristan got up to gather her clothes. "Get back to bed, woman. Stop sneaking out in the middle of the night. People will start to think I'm a slut."
Tristan finished tugging up her jeans before responding, "It's not the middle of the night. It's two in the morning. Go back to sleep, I've got to get moving."
"Why?" Sage asked then sat up after a minor struggle. She gingerly re-tucked the pillows supporting her arm to accommodate her new position.
Tristan didn't answer. She was battling to get her shirt on over her head and injured arm. After several grunts, her tussled hair emerged followed by her scowling brow.
"I hate that part," Tristan muttered before beginning her search for shoes in the starlit room.
Sage settled back against the headboard. It took her a few minutes to readjust her pillowed arm again. She tried to think of something to say which would get Tristan back to bed. Nothing sprang to mind. She became completely distracted when her eyes settled on the rise in the sheet across her lap. Only a few hours before, Tristan wildly rode the strap on shaft driving both women to complete ecstasy.
"You could at least offer to help me put my penis back in the toy box," Sage muttered.
She pulled the sheet back revealing the firm dildo still strapped to her hips. Moonlight glinted off the hard polished surface. Sage writhed a bit to make it look like it was throbbing.
"You can do it yourself," Tristan ignored the request. "I've got to hurry or I'll be late."
"It's two in the morning! What could you possibly be late for?" Sage asked but no reply was forthcoming.
She finally gave up on trying to convince Tristan to stay. Sage pulled the straps loose with nimble, well practiced fingers. Even single handed, she was quickly free of the harness. Getting the devise on took a little more coordination but, then, Tristan was always eager to lend a helping hand at the beginning of their romps. It wasn't until after they had their fill of fucking, followed by a short nap, that Tristan turned away from Sage and rushed out into the darkness before dawn. Her flights were always triggered by a message quaking into her cell phone.
"Will I see you at nine?" Sage asked as she had asked each morning for the last week of their new born affair.
"Sure," Tristan mumbled automatically as she pushed her foot into her shoe.
Sage watched Tristan exit the bedroom without a backward glance. She closed her eyes and listened to the fading foot steps. Her guest's departure was completed with a faint metallic click in the distance. A soft melodic ping from the phone on the nightstand told Sage, Tristan was safely away in the elevator.
Reaching across her chest, Sage grabbed the phone. She wiped a tear from her eye with the back of her hand before hitting the preprogrammed number.
"Morning, Sage," Gareth sounded wide awake in spite of the ridiculously early hour. "My guy already has Tristan in sight. He'll keep her on visual until the parking garage. The street team will pick her up from there and stay on her bumper until she returns to the garage. Hotel security will buzz you when she's back in the elevator to your loft. I have yesterday's surveillance reports in hand if you're interested."
Sage had to clear her throat to speak, "Yah, I'm interested. Thanks for doing this Gareth. Are you going to come up here with the info or should I meet you down your office?"
"Sit tight, sweetheart. I'll be up to you as soon as they finish putting our breakfast together. Steak and eggs sound good?"
"I don't really have much of an appetite," Sage thought she might actually get sick.
"Sage," Gareth sounded fatherly, "you can't be skipping meals and losing sleep over this woman. Your body is too weak to take another hit. If you think you can't handle this, I'll take care of everything for you. I've got so much shit to dump on that little punk; she'll wish we just put her ass in prison. I promise you, you'll never have to think about Tristan Ayer again. Just say the word and she's toast and you never need to know the details."
"I'm glad you're on my side," Sage tried to will the gnawing pain in her belly away. "Bring the info and breakfast up. I think I can handle it…as long as you're with me."
Light laughter filter over the phone line, "Nobody could keep me away from your side, little sis."
* * *
"Tristy, you are a bad girlie keeping me waiting so long," the text message read.
"Fucking twit," Tristan hissed under her breath as she hit the redial button.
"Such a naughty little tramp with a mouth like a sailor," the shrill voice greeted immediately.
Tristan slowed her pace to glance around the deathly still parking garage. She wished she had taken her keys out of her pocket before dialing the phone. Her left shoulder gave a sharp twinge to remind her not to even think about trying to reach down with that particular appendage.
"Are you here somewhere or are you just trying to scare me, Mr. Arnold?" She asked.
The snickering reply made her skin crawl, "Both. I can see you but you can't see me. Isn't this a nice new twist to our daily updates?"
"Actually, I don't like it much," Tristan answered honestly. "Are you here to hurt me?"
"How pedestrian of you! No worries. I'm only going to inflicted psychological harm. Believe you me, I wouldn't touch you with latex gloves, whore. Especially now, when you're covered with Sage's slimy cunt juice. Tell me do you have Dyke breath?"
Tristan slammed the phone closed. She shoved it in her pocket and pulled out her keys. Still seeing nobody nearby, she darted for her car. She was two or three feet from the door when childish laughter echoed through the manmade, concrete cavern. She backed up to her car door. He was close but she couldn't tell exactly where he was hiding because of the echo.
"Really Tristy, running away? Leave if you like; I won't try to stop you. But remember, you can run but you can't escape me. I made you and I'll destroy you. And, I won't stop with you. There's that little cretin of yours to play with as well. Can you imagine how his eyes will light up seeing pictures of Mommy taking it up the ass with a broom handle?"
Tristan shivered at the threat and then the memory but pushed her bravado forward, "It was a police baton, idiot. If you're gonna report a story you better get the facts straight."
His laughter boomed around her. He sounded like every maniacal killer form every slasher flick she ever saw. She also knew him well enough to know he was moving back from the brink of madness he constantly tested. Now he would be ready to lay out the rules for today's game, as soon as he composed himself again.
"Excellent banter! I think you're getting your writer's voice back. Oh, you're so lucky to have me to take dictation. Now, hop in your car and put me on speaker phone. While you drive home, I want to know every moment of the past nineteen hours you spent with Sage." He breathed in deeply, "I want every hammer swing, every dumb joke, every snack, every bathroom break, and every smooth, seductive move. I want every corrupt thing she did to you and every pervert act you committed on her. Give me graphic details and lots of descriptive prose. And, if you even think of lying to me then you will be the most unhappy woman in the world. Understood?"
"Same old, same old," Tristan grumbled as she dragged the car door open and crawled inside to relative safety behind the locked door.
* * *
Sage couldn't take her eyes of the boy sitting across from her in the ancient dining hall of Mount Hope. His large, almond shaped, blue eyes were the most expressive she'd ever seen. They twinkled in wonder at some nuance or other to his well practiced routine which had previously escaped his notice.
Of course, his little discoveries were dragging out breakfast beyond the usual hour the special needs school allotted for breakfast. It was for exactly that reason his education plan included two hours for meals with one to one supervision. A school aid would sit with him the first hour and Tristan Ayer would sit with him the second. Today, Sage arrived to volunteer for the first hour. The staff was not surprised to see one of Simone Sydney-Sebastian's children. The family had been one of the school's most generous patrons over the years with both their money and time.
Gareth had provided Sage with pages of damning evidence of Tristan's dirty schemes and nearly criminal activity over their magnificent but completely untouched breakfast. Yet, it was just one piece of information which captured Sage's complete attention; Max, Tristan's son. Well, biological son. Tristan lost her parental rights to the boy while she was in juvenile lock up.
Still, Tristan's first venture as a newly paroled adult was to find the boy who was languishing in an understaffed state group home. She used every trick and favor she could gather to get Max into the private special education facility. Even more amazing to Sage was Tristan's ability to scrape up the money to pay the nearly one hundred thousand dollar tuition. It took a bit of the edge off all the horrible columns Tristan had written about her.
Max interrupted Sage's thoughts by holding his empty spoon up for her to see. His one to one assistant had already told her what the next step in the morning ritual would be.
"Hot…," he stated.
"…cereal," she replied.
Max dug the spoon deep into the bowl and lifted out a dripping helping. He gave a giggle before shoving the spoon in his mouth.
"You've got a sweet little giggle there, kid," Sage muttered while Max became lost again in his reflection in the spoon. "You also have a beautiful little face."
Sage wasn't sure what possessed her to grab the sugar bowl. She slowly emptied the contents in a pile in front of her. Using her right hand, she leveled the mound until a thin white layer covered the black topped table surface.
Max dropped his spoon and covered his mouth with both hands, "Uh oh."
Sage ignored his warning as she lifted her left hand above the sugar palate. With a wince, she pointed her index finger and then her right hand guided the left's work. A reflection of Max's vibrant eyes appeared as lines of black surrounded by the white powder.
"Look it's you," she whispered to the riveted boy.
Max leaned up and squinted. Then he smiled broadly, "Yeah."
"Yah, yeah," Sage repeated as she gazed at the image she had created with her ruined hand. "Very yeah."
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Tristan nearly knocked a chair over in an effort to grab Max to her.
"Don't upset the boy," Sage stated evenly. "Sit down and act like an adult."
"Tris mad," the boy wailed, "Tris mad."
Sage saw one of the instructors approaching them but waved him off with a glare. "Everything is fine, Mr. Almeda. The three of us are sitting down to finish breakfast. Right, Tristan?"
Tristan closed her eyes but stayed on her knees clinging to the boy. She rubbed his back in big, slow soothing circles. She was quite unsure who it calmed more, him or her.
"Come on, Tristan. Sit down and talk to me," Sage realized she was begging.
Tristan eased her hold on Max and he straightened up in his seat. He stared at Tristan with a furrowed brow and worried eyes. His small hand snuck over and patted her cheek.
"Hot…," he whispered reverently.
Tristan stood and moved his chair back to the table. She pulled one over for herself to sit beside him before responding, "…cereal."
Max grabbed his spoon and dove back into his breakfast.
"Why are you here?" Tristan asked again but in a softer voice.
"Maybe I was hoping we'd have some kind of future and wanted to meet the only important person in your life," Sage reluctantly shifted her gaze from the boy to her lover. "Maybe my Mom asked me to come down help out and this is merely a coincidence. Or, maybe Gareth found out that you're writing a book about my…" she groped for a bland word, "…evening activities with you. That somebody is paying you a thousand dollars a day to spill your guts on what I thought was private. That arrangements are being made for the book to drop the same day my retrospective opens at the ICA. A charity even, by the way, where all the profits were due to go to the Mount Hope scholarship account…,"
"I didn’t know that…," Tristan looked truly horrified. "I didn’t even know you were having a showing at the ICA."
Sage shook her head, "Not now, I'm not. It would have been embarrassing enough to be there when I likely will never sculpt again. There is no way I'm going to stand up in front of all those people when I know they spent the afternoon downloading my smoothest moves."
"Sage, it's not what you think."
"Then what is it?"
"Hot…," a tiny voice reminded them.
"…cereal," both women answered.
Tristan took a deep breath to begin her confession. "I'll tell you everything I can. If I don't know something or think telling you will get people hurt then…"
"You'll lie," Sage nearly growled.
"No. I'll tell you I can't tell you. You can believe me or not. I've got no way to prove I'm not a liar because, well, I am a liar." Tristan reached out and rubbed Max's back again making the boy squirm and giggle. "I needed to snitch you out all those years ago because I was pregnant. I needed to get out for a couple of days to get things taken care. But, as you know, I was held over. The state figured out my situation and informed my Mom. She was thrilled because she'd get more aid by taking in my kid. I couldn't let that happen," Tristan shook her head. "So, I agreed to an open adoption. As you might have guessed, the well to do, liberal, aging hippie couple backed out as soon as they saw him. My Mom was ready to swoop back in. I couldn't let that happen, couldn't let him down again." Tristan looked away, consumed by shame, "I signed my parental rights over to the state. It took me three years to find him shuttered away in that piss hole in JP. It took almost another two years for me
to get him in here. That's when I saw you again. Some craft fair or other. I was working two jobs and writing a blogg that was starting to catch on and make some advertising money. I was broke and exhausted and angry. I wrote an awful post about you that night."
Tristan paused to focus on Max. "Another spoonful."
"Nawh," the boy said and stuck out his generous sized tongue out.
"Yawh," Tristan said in return with a gentle smile.
Max gave a big belly laugh and took hold of his spoon again. The scene was sweet. Sage was humbled in the presence of such love but her heart was broken in almost as many places as her arm by Tristan's betrayal.
"The next day, Mr. Arnold contacted me. He had a lot of seedy stories about the Sebastian family. And, he made me an offer that was impossible to refuse." Tristan grimaced at the memory. "He'd pay me a dollar for every word I wrote about the Sebastians and two dollars for every word about you. The deal continued even when I got picked up as a regular columnist by the Boston Hub."
"Is he still paying by word for the book?" Sage was surprised she could ask in such a civil manner.
"Two dollars a word, one thousand words a day."
"At least you're not interested in me for my money," Sage grumbled. "Gareth wants a deposition from you to use against Mr. Arnold…"
"I can't help you find him. I don't know what he looks like," Tristan interrupted.
Sage shook her head. "Gareth found him already. Arnold Neal was in security for the Hotel and interfered with family business. He got sacked and blames me."
"Unfairly blames you?" Tristan questioned.
Sage sneered, "Oh no, he should blame me. He was only doing his job and because I got arrested, Dad fired him. But, that doesn't mean you get a free payback card. So, today he's being served with a restraining order. The order protects my family and yours."
Tristan sat in stunned silence.
"We know he's been threatening you. Your cell calls got picked up 'accidentally' on our security radios. We," Sage paused, "I don't want anything to happen to you, Tristan. I was starting to care about you which makes this next part so much harder. You are going to sign an agreement to stay away form me and not write so much as my name. In exchange, Max's tuition will be fully funded."
"I'm not taking charity money. I'll pay his way," Tristan's anger flared.
Sage sighed, "It's not charity money. It's my money. I've already written the check to cover him until his twenty second birthday."
"You didn't do that," Tristan was stunned.
Sage gave a small, sad smile, "I did do that. Think of it as a scholarship, a well earned scholarship. After all, very few mothers would go to the lengths you have to get the very best opportunities for Max. The personal costs have been enormous." Sage's brow creased and her voice dropped into a deadly register, "You've put your physical safety at risk and lost all your integrity and nobody likes you, Tristan. Including me."
Tristan refused to cry. She swallowed hard once then twice. She had lost everything her life had revolved around for the past nine years but Max's future was insured.
"A bargain," she thought to herself as she watched Sage walk out of the dining hall and her life.