Page 43 of Grift

“Trying. It’s an ongoing process.” The topic makes me uncomfortable, because it feels like it’s all about my failures. There are other ways that I’ve worked on my self-control. She’s seen a preview of it, although she doesn’t know it. Every time I’ve watched her have an orgasm, but denied myself, I’m getting closer to that edge where I have a better handle on my drives.

“What about you?”

“Me? My self-control is top notch,” she smiles up at me and suddenly all I can think about is her tied up, naked and waiting impatiently on the couch. She had been so willing and so defiant when I came back, although she’d expertly reigned it in. Denying that woman an orgasm. Control play. What the fuck had I been thinking?

She gives me an easy smile that lets me know she was teasing, a fact that sends a stab of desire straight to my cock. “Do you like sports?” I need to shift the subject and fast, or she’s going to end up against a tree getting eaten out until she screams my name into the night.

I need to remember myself. Getting to know Jessica is a good thing. But getting in too deep here will only complicate things.

“I love being active,” she says. “And honestly, you need to be in better shape for a job in a museum than you’d think. You’re always moving, lifting things, working on exhibits. Not as much as when I was out in the field, but I’m more of a go to the gym kind of person. Not as much team sports. We skied a ton when I was a kid, though. And I usually manage to go once or twice when the winter weather cooperates.”

The lights are twinkling overhead. The sky is clear.

“How does the daughter of America’s finest senator end up an Egyptologist?”

I expect some polished answer, but when I glance over she’s ducking her head.

“Don’t laugh,” she says.

“Oh, I’m definitely laughing.”

She lightly swats my arm and I wish that I’d met this woman under other circumstances. Like if we’d both been living our lives, continued the conversation at the gala, and just gone out for drinks without all this extra weight between us. For the first time in the long time, I think she’s a woman that I could have developed something with.

But not in the shadow of what my father is doing to her. Not when our connection became tainted by its connection to those tapes, and everything that meant in her life.

“When I was little, I could not stop watching Indiana Jones movies.” It’s the furthest thing that I could imagine from this elegant, sophisticated woman. “My mother was horrified and had the nanny take me to museums to try to redirect my interest for something appropriate. History became an acceptable escape.”

“By why Egypt? Why not colonial America or British history or anything else?”

“I can’t really pinpoint one specific thing. There was an exhibit going through DC, where we were during the year while Congress was in session. It was this pure golden mask that had been made for a queen. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and began reading everything I could get my hands on. But really –“

She stops. I wait, while she works out what she wanted to say.

“Everything with my parents was about appearances. The way I dressed, what I studied, who I was friends with, my activities. Everything had the potential to help or hinder their goals. Nothing I did wasn’t scrutinized, managed, or redirected in a way they found useful. My imagination was my escape, and for whatever reason, Egypt’s ancient history was the furthest outpost that I could find from our lives in DC and Boston. And when I got older, it was rich and challenging enough to hold continue to hold my interest,” she smiles.

I wonder if a man like me could be rich and challenging enough to hold her interest. Too bad I’m unlikely to find out.

“So why a museum and not off in the desert somewhere?”

Her face falls at the question. Part of me wishes I could take it back. But it’s also useful to know where her landmines are, so I don’t step on them twice.

“Actually, I did go to digs in Egypt twice. Once between high school and college, and once in early college. That was the plan. But then everything happened, and my parents were very clear that I was expected to stay close to home. Even in graduate school, I managed to do all my work based on the archives. By the time I graduated, I’d kind of limited my options and just worked to be satisfied with the world I knew, you know?”

I do know.

I’d never been to Egypt, and I couldn’t comprehend how much passion or knowledge you had to have about a specific subject to get a doctorate. But making the best of the life you have and finding a way to be who you want to be within certain constraints? That’s a familiar story.

We’ve been out here for well over an hour, and she’s beginning to tremble with the cold. “We should get going,” there’s a note of regret in my voice.

Heading back along the path to toward my SUV, she suddenly asks, “Did you go to work for your father right after college?”

“No. I took a job supervising construction for one of the big international companies with a lot of contracts here in the city. Did some hands-on work, some coordinating with architects. I hate sitting still, and it was a good compromise to an office job,” my voice is tight. I’d enjoyed the work. Long days rain or shine. Co-workers who were rough around the edges and not afraid of hard work. Creating something out of nothing. Always being on the move.

“Eventually, my father’s ventures scaled to the point that he needed to bring me back in. Initially it was doing construction, a good fit for my skills. Butting heads with him all the time was less pleasant, but we weren’t in close quarters most of the time.”

She nods. “Did that change with the Casino?”

“Everything changed with the Casino.” It had, too. Our family had always been dysfunctional, but closer to the end of functional. Bending the law, stepping outside the lines, resorting to violence to solve everything. Those were more occasional tools to move intractable roadblocks, rather than a weekly fucking occurrence.

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