Chapter 9 

Carrick stood, grasping for dear life the door knob behind him, almost frozen by the sight of Camille's rose petal like womanhood unfurl to display her mesmerizingly moist and inviting bounty, framed by two thin strips of fire engine red, patent leather. Quickly, Carrick cut his eyes to Malcolm and saw a curious hunger that he knew all too well, it was a look that was usually saved for him.Carrick was pissed.

"You just don't know when to quit." He pushed away from the door and drew near the bed.From the corner of his eyes, he registered that the blonde had snapped out of her orgasm induced lethargy and seemed to look between Camille and him like they were prime time television.

"Apparently, neither do you.You went through all this trouble to set up what? My humiliation?You wanted me to see you and Malcolm at the door (after you showed me to be whore that I am, of course) and you were waiting for me to fall in a heap of apologies and possibly throw in some tearful hysterics for good measure?I am pleased to confess, that I won't be able to accommodate you, you silly Ass.Camille sneered as she kneeled, resting her bottom on her heels, throwing her arms about as she stared him down.

Carrick was seeing red, and it wasn't because of her outfit, "Maybe you're right, this scenario may have been too tame, maybe I should have requested you in a Gimp Suit, and then we could have skipped right over the  autoerotic, and went straight for the asphyxiation.” He ground out as he moved next to the ominously quiet Malcolm.

“Throwing the glass against the door was a little over the top, don’t you think? But who am I kidding, we passed, “over the top” about two hours ago.” The deep timbre of his lover’s voice resonated throughout the room. Carrick startled at the sound of Mal’s voice.

Carr didn’t know how long he had been standing there, staring at the results of his temper, but Malcolm’s two cents was not appreciated. Hurricane Camille, a Category Five storm for sure, the impact of the devastation still to be determined, just blew through their condo and Mal had jokes.

Carrick was bone-tired and more than a little drunk. His mind flashed on the sound of his inner voice telling him his plan might not have been as smart as he thought a voice which he of course completely disregarded. What he would not give for a do-over right now. He could have told Malcolm to forget going into the condo and they could be at a restaurant finishing a meal, or at the penthouse having a marathon session of love-making. There is nothing like being pleasantly exhausted before one has to get on a plane for a few hours; you are too tired to be conscious for the take-off, or the landing. If only he could just simply stop the tape at the time they arrived at the front door and press rewind. But generally he was old enough, realistic enough, and usually smart enough to know that you can’t outrun a shit storm, you just hunker down, wait for it to stop and then access the damage.

Mal continued in a bored tone, “I’m just saying, that’s about five hundred dollars in premium booze and crystal that you just took out on the door. Besides, it was a little melodramatic.” As Carrick continued to stare at the mess in front of him, the disembodied voice behind him continued. “By the way, just in case you are wondering, you don’t wear melodrama well, I like you far better in custom tailored Armani – you know I love how the cut hugs your ass.”

Carrick turned incredulously toward the shadowed figure, leaning against the wall with his hands tucked into his suit pant’s pockets. What. The. Fuck. Malcolm. This is not the time for your brand of humor.

Malcolm’s whole demeanor said, “Trust me, I’m not laughing.”
Mal felt Carrick’s eyes upon him, yet he kept his eyes fixed on a spot on the ceiling. Somehow a constellation of spheres were displaying themselves above him, Malcolm watched as they subtlety shifted turning a lighter and then darker shades of gray. All the time trying to figure out how he could manage this conversation with Carrick without it disintegrating into an all out yelling match.

Carrick felt like he was in a bad episode of the “Twilight Zone”. Once Camille had left, he fully expected Malcolm to charge out of the bedroom intent on avenging his latest new cause. But there Mall stood looking calm, cool and collected, but not meeting Carrick’s eyes. Carrick felt in some ways like the five year old wayward child that he once was, in a time when he still cared about his parent’s ignorance of him, and he did all types of devilishness to be noticed; even when the result was punishment. It was during those times, when his parents would acknowledge his existence that he would peer into their chagrined laced eyes and find the truth of how much he was a disappointment to them.

Somehow he felt like that little boy again willing the person, whom he loved, to strike him rather than look into eyes that held disillusionment and disdain. But in the past, his blue-blood family would never deign to exhibit such a common emotion like anger, and would never consider feeling anything to the extent that it would result in physical contact with their child.

He knew he wasn’t five anymore and even his sluggish mind could grasp the fact that he wasn’t dealing with emotionally estranged parents, but his life’s partner, whom he knew and whom knew him better than perhaps few people in the world. One thing that Carr learned quickly about Mal was that he hated bullies. He only had contempt for people who were mean for the sake of just expressing the emotion. He was praying, in Mal’s eyes, that he had not strayed too far across that line.

Damn, if I’d just thought this through, for a second, rationally, I would have played this out so very differently.

Now, he had no doubt that once he had left the bedroom, Camille embraced her role as the victim against his Big Bad Wolf and royally screw him, or Mal. And truth be told, that little scenario was wiggling around in his liquor logged brain as well. Did she really fuck Mal? Where they going at it while he was in the living room intently dedicated to drinking himself into another universe? Did he just play high takes poker with one of the few relationships that he gave a damn about, and loose spectacularly?

A curious ball of sensation traveled along his spine. The emotion was a disconcerting mix of anxiety, tension and uncertainty. Carrick felt real, personal fear for perhaps the first time in his life.

The cold silken tone of his lover’s voice woke him from his inner thoughts. “What exactly did you hope to accomplish with this little setup tonight, or is the answer as obvious as it seems?” Malcolm was still leaning against the wall, but he had drew one of the legs up so that the flat bottoms of his shoes was resting against the wall and now his arm were crossed against his chest and he was giving eye contact like a sniper who had found his target.

For a moment, Carrick was distracted by the taunt stretch of fabric pulled against the contours of Mal’s muscles. Malcolm at that moment looked better that any Calvin Kline ad at its best. But he snapped out of it once he got a glimpse of Malcolm’s eyes pinning him like he was a specimen in a Petri dish.
“She was setting you up, I wanted to neutralize her-you needed to know the truth.”


Malcolm laughed so harshly, the sound seemed to be pulled violently through his throat. “Neutralized huh, I guess I should drop to my knees and thank God the idea to put a hit out on her didn’t come to you first.

For some inane reason Carrick felt the inexplicable urge to actually shuffle his feet. Mal was using a technique that he usually used with his executives when they said something particularly stupid. Repeat their statement back to them so that they could benefit from the treat of hearing how ridiculous their inane utterance really was.

“What has possessed you? I’ve known you to be justifiably hard on people, when you need to. You especially require those who work for you to perform at their highest level and you do not accept anything less, but what happened here, tonight, was beneath you.”

Was Mal’s voice infused with a hint of contempt?

Upon hearing the phantom strain of judgment in Mal’s voice, the curious mix of alcohol and entitlement did little to flush out all of the stubbornness in Carrick. His stupid streak had reanimated itself during Mal’s censure. “No Mal, actually this is exact what I do. I protect those I care about unquestioningly, if there is a threat to them or their well being, I make sure that threat no longer exists. Camille was a liar and a con artist at best. Her tactics were eventually going to hurt you. I shut her down.” Carrick stared directly at Malcolm, his golden eyes glittered coldly.

“No. I won’t accept that this obnoxious behavior is just you in protection mode. I have never known you to maliciously go after anyone. You hurt her, and then tried to break and humiliate her. To top it all off, you made sure you had an audience. That I was that audience. You wanted me to participate in your kill. Never mind that I am man that you rely on to help you navigate some of the largest divisions in your multi billion dollar corporation; you apparently and inexplicably don’t have enough faith in me to chew gum and walk at the same time.” Malcolm ground out as he shifted so and his feet were resting hip length apart, with his hands on his hips. Somehow, to Carrick, Malcolm seemed a hair’s breath away-they were literally nose to nose. Carr could literally feel the tiny puffs of air that flowed out of Mal’s mouth as he carefully articulated every word. At another time their position would have been erotic in its intensity. Now, it felt like a hostile standoff.

Carrick knew he had to back down. “That is not true Malcolm, you are probably the best person I know. I also know that you have a soft spot for everything that seems fragile. That package, decorated with tits and ass, which just left this condo may have read “FRAGILE”, but it just goes to show you that labels don’t mean shit anymore.”

He knew his emotions were all over the place and the liquor was not helping matters, but his mind kept running back to what Camille had said before she left. Abruptly, he blurted out, “Did you just have sex with her?”

“What?” Malcolm was so surprised by the question he almost fell back into the wall.

“Did. You. Fuck. Her?” Carrick ground out, trying to figure out whether Mal’s look of shock was authentic, or just an effort to deflect the question and buy time.

“Okay, first of all you are cut off from the juice for the night. Why in hell would you think I would sleep with Camille when you are about twenty feet away?”

“She said it.” But Malcolm’s answer did not soothe Carrick, if anything it brought up more questions. “So you would sleep with her if I wasn’t around?”

“Camille may have said it, but it wasn’t the truth. She was probably giving you back a little of what you tried to dish out this evening. If anyone knows what I look like after I have had sex it should be you. Do I have the postcoital glow about me?”

Carr looked directly in Mal’s eyes and what he saw immediately made him stand down. Malcolm’s pupils definitely had a glow, but it was the sheen of someone who was working hard to control his anger, yet something else was also in their depths.

“No you didn’t fuck her.” Carrick turned away from Malcolm and walked to the couch to sit heavily. “But you wanted to.”




“Throwing the glass against the door was a little over the top, don’t you think? But who am I kidding, we passed, “over the top” about two hours ago.” The deep timbre of his lover’s voice resonated throughout the room. Carrick startled at the sound of Mal’s voice.

Carr didn’t know how long he had been standing there, staring at the results of his temper, but Malcolm’s two cents was not appreciated. Hurricane Camille, a Category Five storm for sure, the impact of the devastation still to be determined, just blew through their condo and Mal had jokes.

Carrick was bone-tired and more than a little drunk. His mind flashed on the sound of his inner voice telling him his plan might not have been as smart as he thought a voice which he of course completely disregarded. What he would not give for a do-over right now. He could have told Malcolm to forget going into the condo and they could be at a restaurant finishing a meal, or at the penthouse having a marathon session of love-making. There is nothing like being pleasantly exhausted before one has to get on a plane for a few hours; you are too tired to be conscious for the take-off, or the landing. If only he could just simply stop the tape at the time they arrived at the front door and press rewind. But generally he was old enough, realistic enough, and usually smart enough to know that you can’t outrun a shit storm, you just hunker down, wait for it to stop and then access the damage.

Mal continued in a bored tone, “I’m just saying, that’s about five hundred dollars in premium booze and crystal that you just took out on the door. Besides, it was a little melodramatic.” As Carrick continued to stare at the mess in front of him, the disembodied voice behind him continued. “By the way, just in case you are wondering, you don’t wear melodrama well, I like you far better in custom tailored Armani – you know I love how the cut hugs your ass.”

Carrick turned incredulously toward the shadowed figure, leaning against the wall with his hands tucked into his suit pant’s pockets. What. The. Fuck. Malcolm. This is not the time for your brand of humor.

Malcolm’s whole demeanor said, “Trust me, I’m not laughing.”
Mal felt Carrick’s eyes upon him, yet he kept his eyes fixed on a spot on the ceiling. Somehow a constellation of spheres were displaying themselves above him, Malcolm watched as they subtlety shifted turning a lighter and then darker shades of gray. All the time trying to figure out how he could manage this conversation with Carrick without it disintegrating into an all out yelling match.

Carrick felt like he was in a bad episode of the “Twilight Zone”. Once Camille had left, he fully expected Malcolm to charge out of the bedroom intent on avenging his latest new cause. But there Mall stood looking calm, cool and collected, but not meeting Carrick’s eyes. Carrick felt in some ways like the five year old wayward child that he once was, in a time when he still cared about his parent’s ignorance of him, and he did all types of devilishness to be noticed; even when the result was punishment. It was during those times, when his parents would acknowledge his existence that he would peer into their chagrined laced eyes and find the truth of how much he was a disappointment to them.

Somehow he felt like that little boy again willing the person, whom he loved, to strike him rather than look into eyes that held disillusionment and disdain. But in the past, his blue-blood family would never deign to exhibit such a common emotion like anger, and would never consider feeling anything to the extent that it would result in physical contact with their child.

He knew he wasn’t five anymore and even his sluggish mind could grasp the fact that he wasn’t dealing with emotionally estranged parents, but his life’s partner, whom he knew and whom knew him better than perhaps few people in the world. One thing that Carr learned quickly about Mal was that he hated bullies. He only had contempt for people who were mean for the sake of just expressing the emotion. He was praying, in Mal’s eyes, that he had not strayed too far across that line.

Damn, if I’d just thought this through, for a second, rationally, I would have played this out so very differently.

Now, he had no doubt that once he had left the bedroom, Camille embraced her role as the victim against his Big Bad Wolf and royally screw him, or Mal. And truth be told, that little scenario was wiggling around in his liquor logged brain as well. Did she really fuck Mal? Where they going at it while he was in the living room intently dedicated to drinking himself into another universe? Did he just play high takes poker with one of the few relationships that he gave a damn about, and loose spectacularly?

A curious ball of sensation traveled along his spine. The emotion was a disconcerting mix of anxiety, tension and uncertainty. Carrick felt real, personal fear for perhaps the first time in his life.

The cold silken tone of his lover’s voice woke him from his inner thoughts. “What exactly did you hope to accomplish with this little setup tonight, or is the answer as obvious as it seems?” Malcolm was still leaning against the wall, but he had drew one of the legs up so that the flat bottoms of his shoes was resting against the wall and now his arm were crossed against his chest and he was giving eye contact like a sniper who had found his target.

For a moment, Carrick was distracted by the taunt stretch of fabric pulled against the contours of Mal’s muscles. Malcolm at that moment looked better that any Calvin Kline ad at its best. But he snapped out of it once he got a glimpse of Malcolm’s eyes pinning him like he was a specimen in a Petri dish.
“She was setting you up, I wanted to neutralize her-you needed to know the truth.”


Malcolm laughed so harshly, the sound seemed to be pulled violently through his throat. “Neutralized huh, I guess I should drop to my knees and thank God the idea to put a hit out on her didn’t come to you first.

For some inane reason Carrick felt the inexplicable urge to actually shuffle his feet. Mal was using a technique that he usually used with his executives when they said something particularly stupid. Repeat their statement back to them so that they could benefit from the treat of hearing how ridiculous their inane utterance really was.

“What has possessed you? I’ve known you to be justifiably hard on people, when you need to. You especially require those who work for you to perform at their highest level and you do not accept anything less, but what happened here, tonight, was beneath you.”

Was Mal’s voice infused with a hint of contempt?

Upon hearing the phantom strain of judgment in Mal’s voice, the curious mix of alcohol and entitlement did little to flush out all of the stubbornness in Carrick. His stupid streak had reanimated itself during Mal’s censure. “No Mal, actually this is exact what I do. I protect those I care about unquestioningly, if there is a threat to them or their well being, I make sure that threat no longer exists. Camille was a liar and a con artist at best. Her tactics were eventually going to hurt you. I shut her down.” Carrick stared directly at Malcolm, his golden eyes glittered coldly.

“No. I won’t accept that this obnoxious behavior is just you in protection mode. I have never known you to maliciously go after anyone. You hurt her, and then tried to break and humiliate her. To top it all off, you made sure you had an audience. That I was that audience. You wanted me to participate in your kill. Never mind that I am man that you rely on to help you navigate some of the largest divisions in your multi billion dollar corporation; you apparently and inexplicably don’t have enough faith in me to chew gum and walk at the same time.” Malcolm ground out as he shifted so and his feet were resting hip length apart, with his hands on his hips. Somehow, to Carrick, Malcolm seemed a hair’s breath away-they were literally nose to nose. Carr could literally feel the tiny puffs of air that flowed out of Mal’s mouth as he carefully articulated every word. At another time their position would have been erotic in its intensity. Now, it felt like a hostile standoff.

Carrick knew he had to back down. “That is not true Malcolm, you are probably the best person I know. I also know that you have a soft spot for everything that seems fragile. That package, decorated with tits and ass, which just left this condo may have read “FRAGILE”, but it just goes to show you that labels don’t mean shit anymore.”

He knew his emotions were all over the place and the liquor was not helping matters, but his mind kept running back to what Camille had said before she left. Abruptly, he blurted out, “Did you just have sex with her?”

“What?” Malcolm was so surprised by the question he almost fell back into the wall.

“Did. You. Fuck. Her?” Carrick ground out, trying to figure out whether Mal’s look of shock was authentic, or just an effort to deflect the question and buy time.

“Okay, first of all you are cut off from the juice for the night. Why in hell would you think I would sleep with Camille when you are about twenty feet away?”

“She said it.” But Malcolm’s answer did not soothe Carrick, if anything it brought up more questions. “So you would sleep with her if I wasn’t around?”

“Camille may have said it, but it wasn’t the truth. She was probably giving you back a little of what you tried to dish out this evening. If anyone knows what I look like after I have had sex it should be you. Do I have the postcoital glow about me?”

Carr looked directly in Mal’s eyes and what he saw immediately made him stand down. Malcolm’s pupils definitely had a glow, but it was the sheen of someone who was working hard to control his anger, yet something else was also in their depths.

“No you didn’t fuck her.” Carrick turned away from Malcolm and walked to the couch to sit heavily. “But you wanted to.”

"You little bastard! Now you want me dead? What the fuck did I ever do to you?Malcolm wants me to meet you because it's obvious that he is in complete, ridiculous love with you, though I cannot imagine why, I try to be nice, you don't bother to make an effort, you are down right pissy at dinner and now you have a hate on for me that is down right psychotic.Let me guess, you are off your meds. "Camille shouted as she raised herself to a kneeling position on the bed, directly in front of Carrick, with her chest heaving.

It was then that Carrick noticed that she had red highlights strewn in her abounding, abundant hair, giving him the impression that she was an amber hued, exquisite version of Persephone, the Goddess of Hell. Carrick unknowingly began to stride toward her, she was so beautiful, so passionate, that his choices seemed to be either to, fuck her or kill her.

Her next words stopped him in his tracks, "I swear on all that is holy, if you take one more step toward me, I will do my best to put you in a wheel chair, permanently. You might tell the world some trumped up story of why the King of Caudwell Industries is rockin' a chair from The Scooter Store, attached to a colostomy bag, but everyone in THIS room will all know it was because this WOMAN KICKED YOUR ASS"A intense look, filled with the promise pain,glowed in her eyes.

Carrick was a big man, and he would never hit a woman, but this one just made him loose his mind.He hadn't realized he had made a move in her direction and his head felt like it was about detonate.This woman had the nerve to think that she could go toe to toe with him?

"In your dreams! I wouldn't get any closer to you, if you had gold bullions stashed in your pussy." Carrick flung out.

"Are you both finished yet?" Malcolm's calm voice cut through the raucous exchange.

Both Carrick and Camille were visibly startled as they remembered that there where other occupants in the room.

"Carrick, leave." Malcolm quietly spoke as his eyes focused on Camille.

"Mal, what the hell! You must be kidding me.You want me to go while Chameleon and her girlfriend stay?Now, you know what she is about, you don't have to discuss it. Let's just leave so that she can pack her shit up and go."Carrick looked at Camille, "And please be aware that every item in this condo is catalogued and accounted for, if you have sticky fingers, you will be prosecuted."

"Oh, I can see how that will go. When the police officer asks me how I got into your cubby hole in the first place, I can tell him I was contacted by Mr. Carrick Caudwell to provide a little girl on girl action for him and his boyfriend." Camille offered with a smirk."Who do you think I should give my story to first, The Inquirer or Inside Edition?"

"You are some piece of work!"

"Must take one to know one!" She winced, a little, at how childish she sounded.

Malcolm growled out, "I don't know what to do first, should I take off my belt and spank you both or should I just fucking leave.Carrick, GET THE FUCK OUT!"

The room was so quiet; the occupants could almost hear the flickering of the candles.Carrick could count on one hand the number of times that he had ever heard Mal raise his voice.He looked at his lover and saw the strain on his face.Suddenly, the enormity of this mess, a mess he created, settled on his shoulders.Carrick cast a look over his shoulder and opened the door to leave.Before the stepped through it, he heard Camille speak.

"Blaze, you can leave as well.Thank you for your help tonight.Please note that your payment will be awaiting you in your account."

Belinda had a look in her eye and Camille knew she was about to do something outrageous, which would probably not help her cause. As Belinda sat up, she moved closer toward Camille and leaned in to leveled a kiss on her that would have done the closing scene of any "chick flick" proud.Belinda wrung every particle of passion and enticement out of the action.She left Camille flushed and breathless.

"Anytime you need a partner, please give me a call." Belinda practically purred as she unfolded herself off of the bed and glided past Carrick, without acknowledging his presence.Every other person's eye in the room followed her path.

Carrick followed her muttering something like, "Do you see this bullshit?"

Then Camille was left alone in the room with Malcolm.

All of the sudden she could not look at him.She was terrified of whatever she might find in his eyes.She recognized inside her soul that her fiery exchange with Carrick was just camouflage in an effort to avoid this; judgment from the man whom she most wanted to respect her.

"Do you want to get changed?"Malcolm offered in his calm soothing voice.

Her head was bowed, for some reason she was extraordinarily consumed with looking at the manicure on her folded hands, resting on her lap, but she heard him and nodded her head.

Somehow she found the strength in her legs to stand.She made an almost hilarious attempt to brush down the back of her outfit, but remembered, that there was no material behind her to manipulate.She was in a patent leather crotchless thong. Camille to a breath and moved toward the ensuite, bathroom door.As she opened the door, her head tilted up in his direction.

Her voice was a quiet whisper, "Will you be here when I come out?" she asked.

For the entire time since he had entered the room, he really had not moved an inch.

"Of course."He promised.