Coming Home
After a full day of meetings in studio offices and a trip to his agent’s office to sign stack after stack of glossies, followed by lunch with Abraham Reign at the Grill on the Alley and dinner with industry friends at Soho House, Ashe and Lance headed for LAX to catch the red-eye back to New York. Wearing a wool coat over a white T-shirt, denim button-down shirt, jeans and a scarf Riley had given him for Christmas, Ashe stepped out of the SUV to be met by paparazzi and autograph hunters, waving 8 X 10 photos of him in various roles along with the familiar Sharpie marker. Ashe had learned a long time ago to smile, scribble his name on the proffered pictures and move on. Sometimes he engaged in small talk, especially if a fan had waited for hours to get a picture with him, asking their name and where they were from before grinning in front of their phone cameras.
The signed photos would probably fetch the autograph hunters anywhere from fifty to a hundred dollars, depending on how high someone wanted to bid and whether they wanted it as soon as possible. If fans weren’t in such a rush, they could get the autographed glossies free by sending a letter to his P.O. box.
For the real fans, pictures with him were worth their time and they were excited to pose next to their favorite actor, a feeling that lasted longer for them than it did for Ashe, who was usually thinking of the next thing on his schedule. He never complained, however, because he knew it was part of his job. One day no one would recognize him on the street, and that wasn’t something Ashe was looking forward to. He’d worked his ass off for a long time to get to where he was now, and he wasn’t going to let it all fall apart. When Hazel died he had been ready to walk away from it all, but time back on the family farm had made him realize he no longer belonged there. Hazel could have told him that.
Ashe shrugged the jacket off his shoulders, handing it to the flight attendant with a nod of thanks. He took a deep breath, sat down and closed his eyes. Next to him, Lance was texting Melissa, probably letting his fiancée know what time to expect them in the morning. Ashe pulled out his phone and brought up Riley’s text messages.
The only thing he’d texted back to Riley that morning was a response to her second message, where she thanked him for the flowers.
He acknowledged the flowers but there was no way he could do the same for the outfit and the collar. Any Dominant knew not to interfere with another Dominant’s submissive; it didn’t matter whether he and Riley were into that lifestyle or not, there was no reason for anyone to send her a collar. Before he got upset all over again, Ashe typed a message for her and willed himself to think of other things.
Ashe: On the flight home. Can’t wait to see you.
Then he silenced his phone and prepared to sleep for the rest of the flight.
It was 6:40 a.m. when the car dropped Ashe off in front of his Waverly Place building; Lance reminded him to be ready at three. Though the snow had long since melted, the air was so blisteringly cold that even paparazzi knew better than to hound him. They hadn’t even been at the airport.
The night doorman was just leaving, greeting Ashe with a nod and a smile as he held the door open. As Ashe stopped to collect his mail Terence emerged from the back office, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.
“Good morning, Mr. Hunter! Care for some coffee?”
“No, thank you, Terence,” replied Ashe. “I need to ask you a few questions, though. Did you bring up the peonies for Miss Eames yesterday?”
“Yes, I did,” Terence nodded, setting his cup on the table in front of him as he pulled out the register. He peered at the scribblings on the page, following his index finger down the lines of visitors’ names, the times they’d arrived and whom they were seeing. “Right here, sir,” he said, turning the ledger toward Ashe and pointing to the name of the delivery boy who worked for Fox Farm Florists.
“There was another delivery, too, from Kitty Kat Playground, for Miss Eames,” Terence added, peering over his bifocals as he read the name of the company. “The delivery man said that was also from you. There’s his signature.”
The handwriting for the delivery man was illegible, but it didn’t matter. Catriona had wanted to send him a message and she had done so using the name Kitty Kat Playground, though Ashe knew it better as the Kitty Kat Dungeon, patronized by invitation only. Ashe knew this because, while the Romper Room belonged to Club Fet in London, the Kitty Kat Dungeon was Catriona’s personal dungeon inside the house she’d shared with Ashe years ago. It was where she held her private parties, where she dominated men and women who couldn’t be seen entering Club Fet. The parties were more intimate, with a full bar and staff, and a vetted list of guests whom she knew personally.
Ashe thanked him and headed toward the elevator. He suddenly felt tired, as if he hadn’t slept at all during the flight when he did. He’d slept like a rock. But he also wanted to crawl back into bed as soon as he could and sleep for a few more hours before his performance that evening. And then there was Riley; he wanted her next to him.
The condo was quiet when he arrived. If there was one thing anyone could say about his home, it was immaculate. Despite having a housekeeper come in three times a week, there was hardly any work for the poor woman to do ever since Riley started staying over. Even after he’d reminded Riley that he had a housekeeper on the payroll for that reason, she still cleaned everything in sight.
“Why don’t you watch TV?” he’d asked one evening.
“I don’t watch TV, Ashe,” she had replied. “I read, and sometimes I listen to music. But then, I also like to clean. I like the idea of you coming home to a clean home and know that I’m not just hanging around doing nothing.”
He’d kissed her forehead then, wishing she’d stop it with the ‘nothing’ bit, but that was Riley. “You’re the queen of my castle, petal. You don’t need to clean anything.”
But it was useless to beg her to stop. So Ashe had had to limit the housekeeper’s visits to twice a week and only to the general living areas and bathrooms which, he happily found out, Riley hated cleaning.
In the living room, a small pile of books, some on interior design and others on contemporary art, were arranged neatly atop the coffee table in front of the couch set against a wall adorned with original pieces of art he’d acquired over the years. One day, to complement his collection of records, he’d love to add a working 1950’s jukebox, if he could find one and free time to restore it. But even such luxuries had to wait, not when his schedule was full for the next two years. Ashe smiled, spotting the large vase of peonies he had sent her set on the dining room table, their presence softening the masculine decor of the main rooms. The only thing that betrayed the idea that it was strictly a bachelor’s pad was the presence of a toy bin shaped like a train engine in his office overflowing with toys for the triplets whenever they came over. Eventually, Ashe knew he’d need a bigger home to accommodate everyone, including his parents and his niece whenever they came to visit. But for now, his condo would do.
He set down his bags, slipped off his coat and scarf and hung them on the rack. From here on, his moves were mechanical, his thoughts focused on the things he needed to do. There was sleep, then the play, and afterward the one thing he’d been putting off since Catriona had started playing her game.
He headed into his office and sat behind his desk. He was glad for silence for it gave him time to think, maybe even meditate like he used to. Ten minutes later, he pulled out his phone and texted Lance for Catriona’s number; his friend texted it back to him in two minutes. Then he made the call to the woman he swore to himself he’d never speak to again.
Catriona answered on the third ring, her voice thick with sleep.
“Tell me where you will be tonight,” he said, without introducing himself. She knew who it was.
“Upper West Side. Mistress Kat will be in session,” Catriona replied. “I’ll send the invitation to your office.”
“I will see you after my performance tonight.”
“It’s been a long time, Ashe. It’ll be nice to finally talk on home ground.”
“There is no home ground for us, Catriona, and there never will be again.”
“Ashe…”
He didn’t wait for her to finish but ended the call. It was poor form, but Ashe couldn’t care less. This game had to end.