Amy spent the next day puttering around the mansion grounds, a massive zoo with a single living exhibit, the rare and endangered Amy Lynn Dey. She kept thinking about Isla’s suggestion, and once or twice was ready to call the number on the back of The Jaguar’s business card. But she just couldn’t bring herself to do it, despite the little charge she got whenever she thought about it.

No, Amy told herself, again and again, it’s too much. There must be a more … normal way of going about things. If I wanted to get tied up, I could just take Isla to Comic Con, we’d be bound and restrained to a hotel bed in no time.

So Amy took a more traditional approach, this time finding a host of dating sites. Though she found several that specialized in the kinky lifestyle, Amy’s impulse was to find somebody from a normal, mainstream website. Everybody’s got a little hobby, she told herself, no reason to find somebody who’s absolutely obsessed with it.

I should have done this a long time ago, Amy had to admit. What my family doesn’t know, won’t hurt me. I’ll just tell them I’m out with Isla, they’ll buy that. Anyway, I’m twenty-three years old, I’m not a kid and I shouldn’t have to lie about my comings and goings. Still, I know Isla will back me up in case they call …

Amy posted a picture and was careful not to use her real name or disclose anything personal about her family or fortune. She spent hours searching the profiles, finding only one that excited her interest, a psychology masters student at the University of California, Los Angeles.

Roger Halibrand, eh?

* * *

Roger Halibrand was well-built and athletic, with sun-kissed blond highlights in his dusty brown hair. They strolled together down Glendon Avenue in the crowded Westwood Village, cars crawling past the numerous shops and cafes that were the playground for the students and faculty of UCLA. The campus itself was nestled in the southern foot of the Hollywood Hills, stately marble halls and vast lawns and concrete steps in almost every direction.

“Psychiatry is, for me … it’s the ultimate science,” Roger said, hazel eyes sparkling as he looked out over the busy village. “The human mind really is the last frontier, wouldn't you say?”

Amy had never thought to put it that way, but she was hard-pressed to disagree. “I suppose I would, yes.”

“It really is what separates us from the animals, though there is plenty of psychology in the natural world, from dogs to orca, anything that thinks, really. But things like morality, good and evil, inspiration and creation; everything which is greatest and worst about our species, comes down to psychology.”

Again, Amy couldn’t necessarily disagree, but it just seemed easier to digest the idea rather than comment on it. She liked this Roger and she liked what he had to say, even if there was something about him she wasn't quite sure of.

Oh stop it, Amy told herself, give the guy a chance! If you wanted to half-ass it, you would have met him for lunch on a Tuesday, not Sunday brunch in the Village.

Roger went on, “That’s what my mother always used to say anyway.”

“Oh, your mother,” Amy said, troubled by it for several reasons. “You say, ‘used to’. Is she … gone?”

He turned, brows high, a quick snarl on his lips. “What? No, of course not! How could you assume such a thing?”

“I’m sorry but … you said used to — ”

“When she was a psychiatrist, is what I meant.” He snapped.

“Oh, she was in practice. Well, that makes sense.” Amy said calmly, trying to neutralize the anxious vibe in the air.

“Of course. She was one of the first female psychiatrists in town with her own offices. She’s whip smart, a great businesswoman, superb insight into the human condition.” They walked on, Amy nodding and smiling and not sure what to make of the conversation or what to add to it. “In a lot of ways, she’s like my best friend.”

“Your — ?” Amy tried not to smile, but her shared psychiatric expertise with Roger literally begged the question. “Isn’t that just a bit … Freudian?”

Roger waved her off. “Freudian implies a sex love, that’s not what I’m talking about at all.”

“No?”

“No, of course not, no! Blech, disgusting.”

Amy shrugged. “Well, um, I agree, I have to say.”

But Roger went on, “But what I feel for my mother is just … just a healthy respect, familial love, and an objective admiration for her as a person and as a professional. Just the thought of losing her … ” He shook his head.

“I apologize,” Amy said, “forget I mentioned it. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Done.” Roger pulled his smartphone out of his pocket and swiped the screen a few times, Amy looking over with mild curiosity. Reading her curiosity, he handed her the phone, a picture of an attractive middle-aged woman dominating the screen. Blonde hair and a crooked smile, Amy was struck by the instant recognition.

Whoa.. She looks like me! Or else, I look like her. Either way …

Roger took the phone back and swiped the phone again, and to Amy’s horror, he raised the phone to his ear. “Mom, it’s me … Yeah, how’s your day going?”

Your day, Amy silently repeated. Does he call her every day?

“Yeah, I’m with her now,” Roger said, offering Amy a little nod. “Hold on.” He extended the phone, Amy stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at the phone as if it might electrocute her on the slightest touch. “Go ahead,” Roger said to Amy, “she wants to say hi.”

Amy took the phone, slowly raising it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Hi, doll,” the woman’s voice said. “I’m Carol, Roger’s mother.”

“Um, yes, it’s nice to meet you.”

“And you’re his new girlfriend?”

The word pushed a lump up in the back of Amy’s throat. “Oh my no, Mrs. … Carol, we’ve only just met. This is our first date.”

“He’s a very good boy,” she said.

“I’m sure he is.” Roger watched Amy’s half of the conversation as if knowing what his mother was saying on the other end, and Amy didn’t doubt it for a minute. “Well, I’ll hand you back to him. It was very nice speaking with you.”

“You too, dear,” was all Amy said before she pressed a fake smile and handed the phone back to Roger.

Roger took the phone, he and Amy standing as disinterested students and other hipster types bopped down the sidewalk past them. Roger said, “No, Mom, she’s very nice … Now why would you say that, you’ve never even met her! … Wwww — What’s the matter with you, Mother? … And how was that my fault? She was a bitch, we both know that. Also, she turned out to be a lesbian, how is that me scaring her off?”

Oh boy, Amy said, glancing around and taking a single step back, followed by another. “That’s you all over, so typical,” Roger said, louder and angrier, his attention focused on the phone, not even seeming to notice Amy turning and fading into the crowd. “No, mother, you go to hell!”