True Corruption

Sam grabbed his car from the garage, swung by the coffee shop to collect Miranda, and headed to his tiny apartment in the neighborhood he optimistically called "pre-gentrified." At a stop light Sam quickly texted Viv that he had to grab some things from his apartment, and he'd probably just crash there for the night.

'Makes sense,' Viv texted back. 'I'll be lonely in this big bed without you.'

The car ride was silent, but not strained. Sam drove, turning things over in his head, and Miranda sat quietly staring out the window. Sam could feel the sticky cum in his pants start to go cold, and began thinking about a shower. Then he began thinking about a shower with Miranda, and glanced over at her. She was staring out the window, but he saw she was touching her lips and face with her right hand, and with her left cupping her breast and rubbing her nipple that was clearly poking through the silk blouse she was wearing.

All of a sudden he realized he could smell her scent, her arousal, quite strongly. She was replaying the scene in her head, he knew, over and over, and she still was turned on by it. His cock started to swell again.

A loud honk from behind him cut through his thoughts, and he realized he'd been sitting at a green light for a while. He cleared his throat and stepped on the gas, and from the corner of his eye he saw Miranda clasp her hands and rest them on her lap.

"Did you know who they were," Sam asked, voice a little hoarse.

"Hmm? Oh, them," she said absently, staring out the window still. "Sure, I knew who most of them were, but it doesn't matter."

"What do you mean it doesn't' matter?"

She turned to look at him.

"They know I have the video of Bianca and Max ... Luc let me leave with the video still on my phone, as you saw."

"Huh, yeah, that doesn't make much sense," Sam said.

"Sure it does," Miranda said. "Any number of them have a video of me sucking off five guys and loving it. It's detente."

Sam chewed on that a bit.

"Is that the only copy of the video you have, the one of Bianca and Max?" Sam asked.

He shook his head a bit; Miranda did this thing where she was on a first name basis with someone from the moment she met them, and now she had him doing it. Except he hadn't met Max or Bianca in person, he'd just watched a video of the state representative fucking the weather girl's tits.

"Yeah," she said.

"Well don't you think you should make one? You know, for insurance purposes?"

Miranda looked back out the window and didn't say anything for a bit.

"I don't think I need to," she said, finally.

"Why the hell not?!" Sam nearly shouted, practically startling himself. Miranda stared out the window.

"I just ... I just know," she said.

Sam brought himself under control again, and said "Miranda, what the fuck is going on with you? Do you have any idea how fucking out there this is?"

She looked back at him.

"I do, Sam," she said softly. "Believe me, I do. But I don't think it just something that's going on with me, I think it's bigger than that. That's why we have to get to the bottom of this, of Luc Mane and his mansion on a hill."

***

Sam jammed his key in the lock of his small apartment, jiggled it until it turned, and then jammed his shoulder into the door, checking the door open with a bang.

"It gets a little stuck," he said over his shoulder to Miranda, who was standing in the dimly lit hallway with a barely-repressed horrified look.

She stepped inside, took off her sunglasses and surveyed his tiny place, careful not to brush up against anything in her nice clothes.

"Jesus, Sam, no wonder you don't let anybody in here," she said. "The vermin probably think you're infesting them."

"Hilarious," Sam said dryly. "It's not that bad, and you know it."

He pointed to the old wooden baseball bat he kept propped by the door; the closest thing he had to a security system. "Besides the vermin run screaming when they see me wielding this bad boy."

"Screaming, or laughing?" Miranda returned with a quirk of her eyebrow.

"Hey, whatever works," Sam said with shrug. " Can I get you something to drink?"

"That'd be great, thanks," she said, and Sam took a few steps into the tiny kitchen and opened the fridge.

"Okay, we've got water or... beer," he said from the kitchen. "So ... water it is then. Or I could make you a cup of tea? I don't have any milk, though, and probably not any sugar either ..."

"Water's fine, Sam," Miranda said.

Sam returned from the kitchen with a glass of water and a beer for himself. Together they sat at his tiny table for a few minutes, quietly sipping, not talking. Sam looked at Miranda's bloodshot eyes. Miranda looked off into the distance, and every once in awhile she lightly brushed her lips with her fingertips.

"So, what now, Randi," Sam finally said, breaking the silence. "What's next?"

"Well you probably want a shower and a change of clothes ... " Miranda said.

"I do," Sam nodded. "And you could use one too." He sniffed the air emphatically, and then grinned at her.

"I could, couldn't I ... but I don't have anything to change into," she said, smiling.

"I'm sure I have some sweats you could borrow," Sam said.

"Thank you, Sam," she said, looking down at herself. "Sweats and red pumps, that will make quite a statement."

"Heh, yeah," Sam chuckled. "What's with outfit, anyway? I thought you hated heels."

"Every girl hates heels until she sees herself in a mirror, Sam," she said. "But ... I don't know why I'm wearing them. I was in a cab on the way to work before I realized what I had on, and then I didn't think about it again until you mentioned it in the coffee shop."

"You look ... you look hot, Randi," Sam said. "And it's not just the clothes or the shoes."

"I came so hard I thought the world was ending last night, Sam," she said. "That ... has an effect on you."

"Clearly," Sam said, looking at her.

She looked back at him, eyes still bloodshot. They sat in silence for a few more seconds.

"Anyway," Sam said, "I actually meant what's next in trying to figure out what's going on with Luc. You don't think you just caught a glimpse of some swingers club for the rich and powerful?"

"No," Miranda said, shaking her head. "There is more to it than that. Sam ... have you ever been compelled?"

"Compelled," Sam repeated. "Yeah, fucking expense reports for Barnes."

"No," Miranda said. "That's something you're required to do, it's part of your job no matter how much you hate it. Compulsion is different."

"Tell me," Sam said.

"Compulsion is when you do something not of your own free will, but it's definitely you doing it, and you want to do it, but there is some other force involved," she said. "Like something inside of you is ... pulling you towards an action, something you know you shouldn't do, something that is only going to harm you in the long run, but you still do it."

Sam looked at her, letting that soak in. "The booze," he said, after a moment.

Miranda smiled, leaned forward across the table, and took his hand in both of hers.

"That's exactly right, Sam," Miranda said. "Alcoholism is being powerless to overcome the grip booze has on you, no matter how much you know it's killing you and ruining your life. At 6 a.m. you're swearing you'll never drink again, and that today is the day you'll stop because you hate feeling this way. By noon you tell yourself you can't do it cold turkey, so just one drink at lunch for a few days to get you over the hump, then you'll cut it out entirely.

"By 6 p.m. you're laughing at yourself for ever wanting to quit; you can stop at any time, you just don't want to, the booze makes you feel great. You've been in control all along. At midnight you're stumbling home on the arm of some loser you just met who knows he's about to get lucky because you're completely out of control. Then it starts again the next morning."

Sam looked at his friend, and remembered. Remembered all the times he watched her go through that exact cycle, hoping the next day was the day she'd find rock bottom and get clean. Remembered his own weakness, enabling her by going out with her on most nights because she was fun and knew people and had hot female friends who were always down to party.

Sam remembered the night he was the lucky loser who took her home, how they'd drunkenly started to fuck in her bed until she puked everywhere and passed out, how he'd cleaned her up and cleaned up her room and then stayed up next to her making sure she didn't choke on her own vomit. How the next morning she had no idea they'd had sex the night before, and how cheap and awful he felt, and how he couldn't bring himself to tell her.

He remembered the day he found her passed out on her front step at 2 p.m., sure she was dead, and when he rolled her over and shook her and she opened her eyes and said the four most incredible words he'd ever heard: "Sam, I need help."

Miranda watched Sam's face while the memories flooded in, and her smile turned sad. He was just one of many who she'd hurt in those years, but one of the very few who stuck around. She stood up and kissed him gently on his forehead; Sam closed his eyes and shivered when her soft lips touched him.

She sat back down and said, "I think that's what happened last night."

Sam opened his eyes and looked at her. "You said you didn't drink."

"I didn't," Miranda said. "Not a drop. I remember everything."

"You were drugged, then," Sam said.

"No, that didn't happen either, I'm sure of it," she said.

"Then what the hell are we talking about here, Randi?"

"That's what we're trying to find out, Sam," Miranda said emphatically, letting go of Sam's hands and leaning back in her chair. "Something compelled me to let go of all reasonable inhibitions, to call up my deepest darkest fantasies from somewhere inside of me, and then compelled me to act on them. I wanted to suck all those cocks, Sam, to perform for those men, for them to paint me with their cum like I was their canvas."

Miranda got that far off look in her eye again, and absently touched her lips, running her finger along them. Sam looked at her, tried to clear his throat and failed, took a big swig of his beer and managed to have it go down the wrong way, breaking into a coughing fit.

Miranda looked at him. Sam held his palms out plaintively while he recovered.

"What?" she said. "We all have sexual fantasies that we bury deep down, even ... extreme ones. Stop looking at me like that Sam, I know you have weird shit too. You're a man; you probably watch cartoons and wonder what each female character is like in bed."

Sam just blinked at her.

"Gross," she said, making a face.

"Uh, well, I was only about eight when Jessica Rabbit was ..." Sam started.

"Yeah, let's stay on track here," Miranda cut in. "The point is ... we all have these fantasies, but never in a million years would I even dream of having a fucking bukkake party in front of all these high-powered players I've been covering for my whole career; I don't think I would have done that completely shitfaced. But something opened a little window into my deep subconscious and let that fantasy wriggle out into the open."

"Luc," Sam said.

"Yeah, I think so," Miranda nodded. "He's the piece that's new to the equation. He buys that big fancy house on the outskirts of town - cash - and fixes it up without anyone really noticing. He's inserted himself into high society quickly and easily, much faster than just having big money would allow. And ... " she trailed off.

"And what, Randi?" Sam said, prompting her to continue.

"And while I was there, in his house, everything just seemed so ... completely normal," Miranda said.

"Ha! How so?" Sam asked with a chuckle. "So far absolutely none of this seems normal to me."

Miranda took a sip of her water, gathering her thoughts, and leaned back in her chair, again looking off somewhere Sam couldn't see, pulling memories back into the light and piecing them together.

"That's just thing thing," she started. "The night started out like any other of these high society gatherings, people pulling up in fancy cars, valets, the doorman with an earpiece and a list. It could have been a charity ball or a political fundraising dinner at a private residence. Everyone was well dressed; I was a little worried that I was underdressed until I saw Luc, who was wearing dark jeans and a black, form-fitting turtleneck."

"Tactical turtleneck, nice," Sam murmured.

"What?" Miranda said, startled out of her reverie.

"Nothing, sorry," Sam said quickly. "Keep going. Tell me everything, every detail. We have no idea what we're looking for at this point, or what might trigger some clue to what we're dealing with here."

Miranda settled back into her memories, and again the words started to flow out of her.

"I guess I didn't realize how big that Van Hooten house really is," she continued. "It's definitely big from the outside, and it's set kind of far back from the road so I'd never been all that close to it before. But once you get inside, it's huge. I was one of maybe three dozen guests; we gathered in the front two rooms, the parlor and a big library with floor to ceiling bookshelves and a really incredible collection of museum quality art and artifacts. I'm almost certain he had an authentic Rubens hanging on the wall, marble busts and statues that were really, really old, and a few other things Viv could probably name on sight."

"There was full open bar, so people were taking advantage of that; they had sparkling apple cider, which is such a coup for me, you have no idea, so that put me in a great mood right from the start. The guest list was impressive, major local celebs and a few C-listers from the national scene, everyone from ball players to actors to square-jawed folk I'm pretty sure were high-ranking military. I try not to draw too much attention at these things, I don't want to become the story, but it's also important to be seen at this stuff so people don't find it odd to invite me to the next thing."

"Anyway there was a raw bar and the usual spread, all excellent. I kept my eye on Luc to see who he was talking to. He made the rounds and spoke to everybody, and I could tell he had the key skill of a top-tier host, which is he could seem completely engaged in a conversation while at the same time taking the temperature of the entire room and know what's happening all around him."

"Our eyes met, and he excused himself out of the conversation he was in and made his way over to me. I started to get a little flushed; he's really handsome, Sam, in a tall and dark way, and he has a ... a presence. But this wasn't my first rodeo and I kept my best big smile on and watched him approach. He thanked me for coming, and I told him I couldn't possibly miss out on the opportunity to snoop on the city's most interesting new face. He chuckled and said 'Oh, I've been in town longer than you think.' He said he's just recently finished the work on the house, however, so he felt the need to invite a few friends over, both new and old, to show it off a bit. I complimented him on the work - the house really is fantastic, very well done - and I told him I loved his taste in art, pointing to the ancient pieces in the library. And he said ... he ..."

Miranda stopped and picked her water glass to take a sip. Sam saw that her hands were shaking and she struggled to get the glass to her lips without spilling. It was the first time Sam had seen a real crack in her calm so far.

"What, what did he say?" Sam said, leaning in.

Miranda set the glass down, closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and then continued.

"He said, 'There are all sorts of fascinating treasures to uncover the deeper you go, and it's such a shame to keep beautiful things buried.' At the time ... at the time it seemed like a perfectly reasonable, if slightly enigmatic, thing to say about his collection, but now, after what happened ..."

"This guy sounds like a real piece of work," Sam said.

"Something like that, yeah," Miranda said. "He pointed out that I was drinking the sparkling apple cider, and I told him I was seven years sober, and he raised his glass and we clinked. He said he was constantly impressed with people who learned to keep their inner demons at bay. I told him what I tell everybody, you take it one day at a time. I asked him what he did for a living, and he said he was a long-time commodities trader. Then a member of his house staff came up and whispered in his ear, and he excused himself."

"Okay so then what happened," Sam said after a beat. "So far everything does seem normal, cryptic foreshadowing aside. How did it go from high society elbow rubbing and passed apps to a raunchy sex party?"

"That's the weird thing, Sam it just ... it just kind of happened," Miranda said.

"So Bianca just took her top off after a few drinks and swung it around her head?" Sam said.

"No, no," Miranda said, shaking her head. "Of course not, don't be dense."

"Oh, I'm sorry, how unreasonable of me," Sam said sarcastically. "Please, illuminate."

Miranda's eyes narrowed a bit, but then she shook her head and smiled. She reached out and squeezed Sam's hand.

"I'm sorry, it's just this is ... so fucking bizarre," she said. "I feel like I'm recalling this elaborate dream, but it happened Sam. Me telling you is actually solidifying it all in my mind; that was true in the coffee shop too, telling you what happened has helped me come to terms with it myself, at least as much as I can. I know it's been hard on you ... well, uh,"

"Yes, sex puns, they'll get right on top of you if you're not careful," Sam said with a grin. "Try writing headlines with such a deeply dirty mind. But I'm trying to get to the compulsion, Randi, the point where something began pulling on you against your own free will."

"Right," she said. "So he walks off and I talk to two or three more people, and then Luc comes back into the room and says, 'Ladies and gentlemen, if you'd please join me in the conservatory, we have some light entertainment for the evening.' He has this rich resonant voice and it cut right through the crowd, and everyone starts filing out of the rooms and down the hall.

That's when we enter the room with the raised dais in the center. At this point it had a stool and a cello in a stand on it. The dias was surrounded by couches and comfortable chairs, with a low tables few tables to hold the drinks. Everything is very cushy and comfortable and everyone fits easily, so I take a chair near the front. Staff are circulating taking drink orders and quickly hustling them back to the guests. Then Luc steps up onto the stage and plucks the cello from the stand and takes a seat on the stool."

"Hold it," Sam broke in. "This guy plays the fucking cello too? You've got to be kidding me. Did he play fucking Wonderwall?"

"I know Sam, believe me I know," she said. "Even at the time I cringed internally and was like, 'yeah, here we go, he's got the shark lined up and he's preparing to jump.' And then he started to play. And Sam ... it was amazing. Like feel it in your bones amazing. He made Yo-Yo Ma sound like some roadie for Linkin Park."

"At some point the lights dimmed while he played, and the room was lit by these old lamps on the walls that had these crimson lamp shades, with like the gold tassels, you know? I think they were even gas lights because they flickered a bit, like something out of the Gilded Age. But it went perfectly with the music, Sam.

And the music, the music just penetrated you, got right inside you and took you places. He had the room, all of us, soaring, then swimming through the deepest ocean depths, then crying at the saddest thing you could imagine, and then calm and serene. I have no idea what the piece was he played, I'm not a big classical person, but I'm sure I've never heard it before. He stroked out the last note and it reverberated around the room, and then faded. Nobody moved. Then he said, 'Thank you,' and the room collectively gasped - we'd all been holding our breath through the last note and the silence that followed. People stood and applauded, and I applauded right along with everyone. He deserved it, it was an amazing performance.