Shara Azod, Marteeka Karland
The Third Wednesday
One
Four meetings, two negotiations and one mediation was not bad for a day’s work. Tonisha settled into the high-backed leather chair for the first time in a very long, very busy day. Sighing, she flipped through the custom-made, leather-bound planner that had her name embossed in gold on the cover. Of course she could’ve started her computer and synced her smartphone, but sometimes she just preferred the texture of paper and pen. Touch. It made her feel like less of the automaton she was becoming.
A smile graced her lips as she confirmed what her body was already telling her. Today was the second Wednesday of the month. It was the one day of the month she would be able to completely relax and let go of the hectic hustle and bustle that was the one constant in her everyday life. Tonisha’s career as a high-powered corporate attorney took up all her time, leaving nothing for relationships beyond the job, intimate or otherwise. If she wasn’t flying to every corner of the globe, she was negotiating contracts, mediating, advising, or holding the hands of dumb-fuck CEOs and CFOs who deserved to go hang for their stupidity. She’d clawed, sweated and bled her way to the top of her game, and in return she’d sacrificed a marriage along with more relationships than she cared to count.
In the end, she had earned her kick-ass penthouse, a vacation house in the Bahamas she had only used to schmooze clients and her multi-million dollar salary. To her, it had been worth the sacrifice. Still, there was something elemental missing. A connection that could not be faked. All the people who moved in her circles were looking to make up that lack of true personal contact. Some joined exclusive BDSM clubs and paid for the privilege to give up complete control to someone who didn’t give a damn they ran a Fortune 500 company or were in charge of more people than the population of some small countries. Others had mistresses (or whatever the hell the male version was.) Perhaps, in a way, paying for it was easier than letting someone in naturally. Even if the payee didn’t get it, or didn’t accept it, they had an incentive to pretend. Or maybe the person getting paid was just as removed, with a closet full of frustrations, needing something just as much as the person paying.
Tonisha didn’t know or really care. In her mind, she wasn’t paying for intimacy. It was a wonderful byproduct of letting go. After all, it had started out as just a massage at Body Electric, the private spa at which she was a VIP member. Of course, she visited the spa regularly-once a week. But the third Wednesday-that was her personal appointed with Eduardo, the owner and operator who was only in Atlanta once a month. Today she would get much more than waxed, primped and massaged. Today she would get the total package.
It had started a year ago today, when her regular masseuse had been out for the day…
Two