“Ow! That hurt.”
“Sorry, Mr. Phillips,” Samantha suddenly realized what she had done. She’d slipped off into la-la-land and put pressure on a nerve. “I’m really sorry.”
“It’s fine. I know my muscles are a mess right now. I feel much better than I felt when you walked in.”
Samantha found herself blushing as Gordon stood up and put on his shirt.
“Thank you,” Gordon smiled.
Samantha nodded at him, “You’re welcome, Mr. Phillips.”
Two days later, after time to let the muscles rest, Samantha found Mr. Phillips somewhat more relaxed, and his body more compliant to her pressure. In particular, although the muscles were still somewhat sore, she managed to reach deep and get beyond the upper layer of shot muscles to the deeper muscles underneath.
When Samantha came back to give him another massage, Gordon experienced a level of relaxation he hadn’t felt in a long time. In that state, he was suddenly transported back to when he first met Samantha. As her hands rummaged through his back muscles, he replayed it in his mind so vividly that he felt as if he were there.
“Hey, what’s your name? Great party, huh?” she’d asked.
“I’m Gordon Phillips. I’m studying Economics and Management.”
“That sounds…interesting.”
“Sorry, I’ve become this kind of robot. I’ve been saying the same goddamn thing over and over. Believe me, I am actually a deeply fascinating person.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it. Shall I call you Mr. Phillips?”
“Hell no. My friends call me Gordy.” he’d said.
“Are we friends, Gordy?”
“I hope so, ‘cause this party is full of…oh, I dunno, I guess they're okay. I’m just tired of introducing myself. I’m sorry. I don’t care what movies you like, or which bands you like. I don’t even care about the color of your underwear.”
“Pink. With little white dots.”
“What?” he’d asked, surprised by her forwardness.
“My underwear. It’s pink with little white dots.”
“Really? Is that right?”
“Interested now, huh? Matching bra too,” she’d teased.
“Well, I—”
“Wanna get out of here? Go grab a coffee?”
“Um, uh-huh.”
He was brought back from his reverie by a sharp pain in his back. She was really digging into those knots, which was great for working out the kinks, but it was getting harder and harder for him to keep himself composed.
He wondered if she was still as brazen and direct as she was back then. He wondered if she had recognized him and if he should just let her know who he was. He was used to being perfectly composed, but his thoughts were all over the place. She made him want to open up.
If he opened up, though, that would give her an in. He couldn’t let people in, not when he dealt with the kind of people he did. If he gave them ins, they would take advantage of him, maybe use it to get to his company.
As she pushed down again into his back, hard, he thought maybe she did know who he was. Maybe she figured it out, and now this was some kind of elaborate pre-assassination torture routine.
Get a grip of yourself, damn it, he told himself.
He allowed himself to drift in and out of his thoughts. Again, he found himself in a dream-like memory of his time with Sammy.
“Raise your glass, Gordy.”
“Why? Wait, you never say no to a shot. That’s the rules. You especially never say no to a shot when a fucking hot chick is standing naked in front of you?”
“Aren’t my breasts glorious, Gordy?”
“Your breasts are…glorious, Sammy. But what are we drinking to?”
“This is the sixty-ninth time we’re gonna have sex,” she’d said like it was obvious.
“That’s rather presumptuous. Who says I’m having sex with you? And you’ve been counting?”
“I always count things. I just like to, you know, keep tabs. It makes me have things in perspective no matter how crazy it might seem. And is it presumptuous? Is it really?”
“It…could be,” he’d said, not meaning it.
“Well, you know the only appropriate way to celebrate the sixty-ninth?”
“Okay, it wasn’t presumptuous. It wasn’t presumptuous at all.”
She had been fiery, and direct, and exciting back then. They couldn’t get their hands off each other. It was odd that she was right there, giving him a massage, oblivious to who he was. He wanted to ask her how she had been. What life had been like for her. Who she’d been with.
“Have you ever thought of what we’re gonna do when college is done?” he’d asked.
“Oh, Gordy. I know what I’m going to do. I’ve finished my basic massage therapy training. I’ve minored in biology and business management. I’ve known what I’ve wanted to do this whole time. And so do you.”
“What do you mean? I don’t know anything. I’m like a lost middle-class puppy.”
“Ha, fuck off, Gordy. If you’re middle class, then I’ve been secretly hiding that I’m a five-star ballerina.”
“I don’t think they give grades to ballerinas.”
“Oh, shut up, you upper-class jerk.”
“Really? You think I’m upper class? After all this time?” he’d asked.
“This is a redundant argument. The class war finished decades ago. It’s just the mega-rich and the poor now. Much easier to remember.”
“And I suppose you’re throwing me into the pool of the mega-rich?”
“Well, aren’t you?” she’d asked, already knowing the answer.
“I’ve taken out loans. I haven’t taken a cent of my parents’ money.”
“Look, I’m not trying to have a go at you. I’m sorry. I know you’re perfectly capable of going your own way. But, be honest, if you still don’t know what you’re going to do when we’re done here…”
“Are you ever done at Harvard? God, I hope not,” he’d said.
“Right, whatever. When you’re done here, you’ll just go and join your dad’s business. Aren’t you in line to run it anyway?”
“It’s not a royal family.”
“Isn’t it, though? Aren’t you just the new All-American Royalty?”
“You a smart piece of ass, you know that.”
“Well, you’re just an ass,” she’d said, laughing.
Would it be more awkward for her if he allowed her to continue on like this until she eventually figured it out? Did she even think of Harvard anymore? He could still see her in the afternoon sunlight leaning against the red brick, the wind blowing her hair, tears running down her cheeks.
God, Phillips, you can be such a motherfucker sometimes, he thought.
If only she had known the kind of pressure he was under to compete with his brother. Maybe if she knew now, she could understand. No, she would never understand, could never understand.
He stayed quiet as she moved her hands through his muscles. Her hands were soothing. Part of him wanted to turn and kiss her. Sometimes being at the top could be lonely, and women he’d been with never filled that void. A part of him didn’t care that he was alone, but with her, it was different. He had been under pressure all his life. He had lost a few good things in return for the great power he had found, and to many, it would seem like a small price to pay.