Deep Look

Truth be told, she'd been attracted to Price at school, and if he just hadn't asked her to the Valentine's Day class in front of all her cheerleaders . . .

Graduation night marked the end of Caitlyn's four-month reign at Granville High. The high school was closed for the summer. September would mark a whole new cast of characters in the senior class. Caitlyn's hookup with Doug Munson only spun out for a couple of more weeks—to the day she found out that Susan Oldman, the cheerleading captain of the high school class ahead of Caitlyn's and now a salesgirl at Rosie's Boutique, was pregnant by Doug, who married at the "urging" of Susan's father. Doug took Susan off to Syracuse University with him in the fall, where he had received a football scholarship, and from which he lost his scholarship after having his knee cap blasted in the first college football game of the year and when the university found out how dumb he actually was. Caitlyn didn't have the foggiest idea what had happened to Doug after that—nor did she particularly care. She had taken Susan's job at Rosie's Boutique and was dating Stuart Potter, who had stayed on in Granville after graduating and was a car mechanic for the Washington County transportation party.

They married, but Stuart turned out to be even dumber than Doug and less adept at covering his sleeping around. So, over the years, Caitlyn Langdon Potter had reverted to Caitlyn Langdon before briefly being Caitlyn Langdon Berkowitz, after a drunken weekend with the son of one of the town's lawyers, who was barely out of high school and who Caitlyn zeroed in on during a period of panic at approaching thirty, ran off with her to New York City. Craig Berkowitz's father had made short shrift of that marriage. The only other changes in Caitlyn's subsequent life was moving to BJ's Restaurant as hostess after Rosie's Boutique closed down, and moving to the other side of the tracks, to a Broadview Terrace trailer, when her parents died in the airline crash in Europe and she learned that all they had left her were bills. It had been a hard seventeen years, but Caitlyn knew she had no one to blame but herself. She also had admitted that some of it had been fun. She'd never claimed to be Miss Purity.

She hadn't known what happened to Price Pedersen after graduation night other than the giggling that had gone around town of how the minister of the Baptist church had picked him up on Pine Street and given him a ride home that morning and that he, indeed, had left for Boston and MIT soon thereafter. His shame-faced parents, congregants of the Baptist church, had moved somewhere else by the end of the summer as well.

Ironically, as far as Caitlyn knew, she now lived in the trailer that Price once had lived in. When she'd bought the place, she'd seen the trailer's sales history and it had been in the name of Pedersen over the period in which she'd been in high school. This caused her occasionally to think of him and that dirty trick she'd helped play on him on graduation night, and she had enough human compassion to be bothered by what shits the kids she ran with in high school had been. Including her.

She thought she took a deep look into herself as much as anyone did, and although she certainly didn't like everything she saw, she thought, on the whole, she was a good person not hurting much of anyone else more than herself. She was just a small-town girl trying to keep her head above water. No big deal. She did occasionally think of the shitty thing Doug and the boys had done to Price Pedersen, but she took not coming up with much more rotten than this as a good sign.

But now it was coming back to whammy her. Now, soaked to the skin, cold and shuddering, disheveled, and dressed like a slut, she was standing at a door, facing Price Pedersen—an older, very good looking, expensively dressed, and obviously self-confident Price Pedersen—and she needed, but didn't deserve, his help.

* * * *

"It's really you, isn't it? I'm Price. Price Pedersen. Do you remember me . . . from high school?" He sounded so hopeful. "You found me."

For the briefest second she thought he was right—that she'd been looking for him for seventeen years. To apologize or something. "No, not on purpose," she said. "But yes, I remember you. But I didn't know you were still in Granville. I've plowed into your front yard." She gestured over her shoulder and Price took a look.

"Yes, yes you have. It's snowing."

She let that pass. She felt as awkward as he seemed to be. "My cell phone doesn't work." She lifted her cell phone to prove she had one. "I need to call AAA. Yours were the only lights I saw."

"The street's gone mainly commercial now," he said. "And not still here. I've only recently returned. But, what am I doing making you stand out on the porch? You look frozen solid. Please, please, do come in."

When she was in and he'd shut the door, he said, "You're soaked, and shaking. We need to get you out of those wet clothes." But then, realizing what he'd said, he gave her a distraught look. "I didn't mean—"

Caitlyn laughed. She'd been assessing him as a sex partner, and he hadn't come up short. But she was frozen and shaking like a leaf. "The call. If you'll just lead me to your phone."

"Here, let me at least take your coat and exchange it for a dry one," he said. He was rummaging around in a closet off the foyer and came up with a black cashmere, full-length coat.

"I'm wet. That's too nice," she said, but she was shrugging out of her coat, and when he held his coat out, she took it.

"It's fine. It'll dry," he said, and then, "My cell's in the other room. I'll just get it." He did so and was back within a few seconds. "AAA is set in. Here, I'll connect it."

As Caitlyn put the phone to her ear and counted the buzzes, Price took out up the stairs. By the time she was finished, he was back downstairs with a pile of clothes and a fluffy bath towel that put anything Caitlyn owned to shame.

"They say they have no idea when they can get here. Lots of accidents and few trucks out," she said, apologetically. "Maybe not until tomorrow. I'll call a cab."

"Nonsense," Price said briskly. "The likelihood there will be any cabs out in this is nil. You'll just have to stay here. I have lots of room."

"I could go back to the restaurant. It's just up Quaker. I work at BJ's."

"I know you do," Price said and then looked mortified.

"You know I do?"

"Yeah, I work just past that, at what used to be the tractor plant. I've seen you in the restaurant before—through the front windows. But I haven't come in."

"You work at the new plant?"

"Well, I own it. Long story. But no talk of going back out into this tonight. The snow is picking up. Here are some clothes you can change into. Get out of that wet dress—although it's very nice. Very Valentine's Day. But very wet too. And a towel. I'll show you where a guest room is. It has a bath. You need to shower and get warm."

He was rattling on, not giving her time to demure. But then she didn't feel like demurring. God, he was good-looking. She'd been such a putz seventeen years ago. She took the clothes and took a closer look at them—something between a sweatshirt and a blouse and soft, cotton pants. Expensive. Even silky panties. No bra, though. And soft-material socks. All of it better quality than she could afford.

"Are these your wife's . . . or your girlfriend's?"

"I don't have either. My sister visits every couple of weeks—from Albany. She keeps clothes here. You look about the same size. Here, the guest room is upstairs. Let me show you."

They were about to ascend the stairs when a little Scottish terrier came bouncing down the stairs and came straight to Caitlyn and quite obviously demanded a pet and a scratch, which Caitlyn provided.

"Cute," she said.

"This is Antares." As you can see she's friendly.

"Antares. Strange name," Caitlyn said.

Price didn't explain, though. As he started up the stairs, he said, "We need to get you dry."

Everything in the guest room and attached bath screamed money. Going to MIT must be quite profitable, Caitlyn thought as she showered and then came out into a guest room dimly lit by two bedside table lamps to dry off. She walked back over to the chair where she had draped his black cashmere coat and felt the richness of the material.

She'd once lived this way in this town—had nice things and lived in a proud old house like this. Then it had been Price Pedersen who had lived on the other side of the tracks in a trailer. She didn't resent the swap in status. Good for Price for having made it to this side of the tracks, and she had no illusions about why she'd slipped to the other side. She appreciated the irony in this. Still, she wouldn't be unhappy to have nice things again herself. The hall light outside was brightly lit and the crack under the door high. Her eyes were drawn to the crack and she saw the shadow of someone passing by the door and then passing back. Her eyes went to the doorknob, and she held her breath, wondering if it would turn.

What would she do if he came in now, finding her naked, with just the fluffy towel in her hand? Would she cover herself and look indignant, or would she leave herself exposed and look submissive? There was a full-length mirror on the wall near her and she turned and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked damned good for thirty-five, if she did say so herself. And Price had looked damn good downstairs too. And she was in heat, having hoped for something more than this damned snow from a Valentine's Day party at the restaurant.

It suddenly occurred to her that the guilt she'd felt these seventeen years for what the guys had down to Price at Rathburn Pond contained the element that she'd put out for all the other guys but not for Price. That had been her sin. She hadn't given him anything before they'd paid that trick on him and she felt like she owed him something. She'd felt she'd owned him something for seventeen years. And he was just as fine looking as any of those guys on the football team.

Would she let him fuck her if he came into the room now? Damn right she would. Given half a chance, she'd jump his bones.

She looked again, but there was no shadow passing by the door now.

He probably wouldn't want to fuck her anyway. He probably still resented what the guys—including her—had down to him on graduation night. He'd been the class valedictorian and thinking back now on the honor that had been bestowed on him that day could only belch up the memory of walking down Pine Street buck naked and being picked up by his Baptist minister. She'd been part of ruining what should have been one of the best days of his life.

She felt ashamed. On top of that he was treating her like a queen now. Nobody had treated her like a queen since the end of her reign back at the end of her high school days.

She dried off and dressed in the soft, perfumed clothes she didn't deserve, dreading the thought of having to go downstairs and face him. But she had no choice. And she'd done this to herself.

* * * *

"There you are. Refreshed? Come, sit over here. I poured you a drink. I hope you don't mind. To warm your insides. You must have been frozen down to the quick."

Caitlyn entered the living room; took the offered drink, which had to be bourbon or scotch—either would be just dandy—and sat at the end of a sofa set close to a fireplace with a gas fire going. She looked around the room. "You look like you've decorated for a party," she said. The living room, indeed, was decorated for Valentine's Day, and with much better style than she had decorated BJ's Restaurant.

"I was having an office party today," he said as he sat at the other end of the sofa and took a swig of his scotch, which enticed Caitlyn to do the same. It was smooth, with body; a better brand of scotch than she could afford. "I guess the snow has kept everyone away."

"You think?" she said without thinking. She always had been quick to be sarcastic, especially when she was a little off center and nervous, which she was now. Then, because she realized that reply had been sharp, she rushed on. "Well, they're missing a nicely decorated place—and very good scotch." She lifted her glass in salute to him and he saluted her with his glass in return. The Scottish terrier waddled into the room, came over and put her nose up into Caitlyn's crotch, and, after Caitlyn gave her a pet, backed off to the hearth in front the fireplace and settled, her eyes following every movement Caitlyn made.

"You say an office party? And you said you opened the new plant down where the old tractor plant had been," she said, not so much in curiosity as to cover the awkwardness of the situation. Price was looking at her like she was new-found treasure, and she was the only one who had shown up to his party, albeit unwittingly. She felt the burden of carrying the conversation for all of those who didn't show. She also was feeling half-dressed. What he'd given her to wear covered her, but not without making her feel half naked. Her bra had been soaked and he hadn't provided a replacement, so she was swinging free under the top he'd given her to wear. She was well-endowed and she was quite aware that her nipples must show against the smooth richness of the fabric—not least because not all of Price's gazes were rising as high as her face.

"Yes, I was fortunate enough with an invention to make a lucrative business out of it. When I opened a new plant that would provide work for thirty, I thought, why the hell not give the jobs to my old hometown? The tractor plant was configured well for what we had to make, so here I am. Home again."

"So, you rode in on a white horse to make up for the jobs lost at the tractor plant in the town of your childhood," Caitlyn said and once again was sorry she'd been so flip. He surprised her, though, with his response.

"That wasn't the only reason I came back," he said, giving her a level stare. Blushing, she looked away, searching for some other path to go down in the conversation.

"You went to MIT, didn't you?" She asked and saw immediately that he was pleased that she remembered. "So, can you say what this invention is? The talk of the town is that you're making something secret at that plant."

"Not secret," he answered, with a laugh, "just something a bit sensitive. Yes, I was fortunate enough to have invented a better O-ring."

"O-ring?" she asked. It sounded sort of like a sex toy to her—the image she pulled up was of the cock ring Ralph wore when they had sex to keep himself hard. She was surprised how tingly she felt that they would go off into sex talk—not that she didn't want to. He looked real good to her. She'd gone to work intending to make the most of Valentine's Day—to get laid. She could still have some hope of getting that done.

"Yes. Something on rockets to help them go. We make new and improved O-rings for Antares rockets. NASA uses them down at Cape Kennedy to put satellites into space. Nothing secret. A bit sensitive, though. They don't want anyone handling them who doesn't know what he's doing—and why."

"Antares? So, the name of your pouch here—"

"Comes from the source of my good fortune, yes. So, I make gadgets for rockets, but that's not my real interest."

"It isn't?"

"No. I'm surprised you haven't mentioned seeing me on TV."

"I don't watch TV. What do you do on TV?"

"Ah, well. So, you haven't watched the program America's Talent? It's all the rage, apparently."

"America's Talent? No, I've never heard of it—well, I have heard people talking about something like that at the restaurant, but I never thought about what it was. So, you were on this program telling how you make O-rings?"

Price laughed. "No, not O-rings. There's nothing exciting about O-rings."

Caitlyn wasn't sure she agreed. She found anything that made money to pay for what she saw in this house to be downright fascinating.

"No. I'm a hypnotist. I nearly made it to the semifinals in that program. Seems everywhere I go, people are asking me if I'm that hypnotist guy on TV. I did it in Las Vegas for a couple of months later."

"Hypnotist? I don't believe in that stuff," Caitlyn blurted. But then she relented. "It's just not something I'd be susceptible to."

"Everyone says that, but most people are susceptible to it," Price said. "They just wouldn't do anything under hypnosis that they wouldn't do fully conscious. You can't make someone evil, for instance, who basically is good."

"Or loose who wasn't loose?"

"Yes, right." He looked away. Was that a blush she saw?

"Well, I don't know . . ."

"Here, I'll show you. It works with animals too. Here, Antares, come here." The terrier rose off her haunches and came, tongue lolling out of her mouth, over in front of her master. "Look here, Antares. Look into my eyes. A deep look. Take a deep look."

Caitlyn was skeptical, but she was surprised when the dog did as directed.

"Deep look, Antares. Sleep now. Sleep. Sleep." The dog closed her eyes.

"That's it? That's all?" Caitlyn asked. "The dog's under now?"

"Yes. Let me demonstrate. Squirrel, Antares. You see a squirrel."

The terrier barked and gave a growl. She came up into a pounce stance and trembled all over.

"The squirrel is gone now, Antares," Price said, and the dog quieted down. "Your tail, Antares. Chase your tail." The dog became animated in excitement again and went round and round in place, trying to grab her bobbed tail with her teeth, not quite being able to reach.

"Deep look, Antares," Price then said. "Wake now. Wake. Wake." The dog quieted down, opened her eyes, and lolled her tongue. Price gestured toward the fireplace and the dog happily returned to stretching out on the hearth.

"Very interesting," Caitlyn said. "But I don't know—"

"Here, you've finished your drink, and so have I. The bottle's in the kitchen. I'll be right back." Price popped up took the glasses, and headed back into the bowels of the house.

Caitlyn gave the dog a skeptical look and said. "Look at me, Antares. Deep look." The dog swiveled her head toward Caitlyn and gave her full attention. Caitlyn took a deep breath. "Sleep now. Sleep. Sleep." The dog closed her eyes and went rigid. "Squirrel, Antares. You see a squirrel." The dog quivered all over in full pounce mode and let out a couple of yips.

"Thought so. Just training," Caitlyn said. She then said. "Deep look. Wake now, wake, wake." Antares became alert and came over for pets, which Caitlyn provided before pointing to the hearth. The dog trotted back there, settled, and turned her big browns back on Caitlyn.

When Price returned with the drinks, Caitlyn said, "I can't really believe in that stuff."

"You want me to demonstrate with you?"

"Sure, if you want to give it a go."

He put the drinks down on the coffee table, sat next to Caitlyn on the sofa, turned a serious look toward her and said, "Look at me, Caitlyn. Deep Look." She complied. "Sleep now. Sleep. Sleep."

Caitlyn closed her eyes. Her breathing became regular and shallow. She sank back into the corner of the sofa.

"Are you asleep now, Caitlyn?"

"Yes," she answered in a soft monotone.

"Are you comfortable?"

"Yes."

"Are you happy?"

"Yes."

"Are you attracted to me?"

She hesitated, but then she said, "Yes" and added, "very."

"Remember, you will do nothing under hypnosis that you wouldn't do awake. I'm not going to make you do anything you wouldn't want to do fully conscious." He was touching her arms with his fingers, running his fingers up and down her arms. He muttered under his breath, "I just need to know." Then louder. "Do you understand? Are you comfortable with that?"

"Yes," she answered.

"Is there something you want to do with me?" he asked.