CELEBRITY

Justin Wakefield stood relaxed before the press pool the morning after his arrest for drunk driving and possession with all of the polish and aplomb of a Kennedy holding a press conference.  Neatly shaven and dressed in a conservative suit he didn’t give the appearance of having a morning after hangover. He grinned cheerfully at a reported who commented on his appearance, “My activities last night were highly exaggerated, as usual,” he grinned at them winningly and pointed to the next reporter.  There was some ‘good old boy snickering’ which he encouraged with a shrug and an arms open gesture of innocence.

“Justin, why did you refuse the Breathalyzer if you weren’t drunk?” the city reporter asked.

“I asked to be taken to the nearest emergency room for a blood draw,” he said casually, “But they wouldn’t agree.”

The crowd burst into questions again and Justin smiled pointing to a reporter he knew.

“Why, a blood draw?”

“I wanted the assurance that the needle was clean and the test was objective,” he said, “Sometimes that’s hard if you’re well known.”

Justin’s agent interrupted and thanked the press and coaxed his client off of the platform before he got on ‘poor me’ kick and ruined the effect of the press conference.

“That’s enough, Justin,” the agent said and waved off the press.

His client was neatly dressed this morning, nothing like the mug shot last night where he wore a loose, silly grin on his face and was saluting the camera with an unbecoming gesture.  Steinham was beginning to wonder if the money was worth the trouble this client caused.  His last arrest had been for domestic abuse but his girlfriend hadn’t pressed charges and had since disappear back to her little town in Texas with a settlement.  In college there had been a rape accusation that the university officials handled quickly and quietly so that he wouldn’t miss the Bowl Game.

When they reached Steinham’s car Justin immediately lit a joint behind the tinted windows.

 “Justin, have you ever thought about rehab for the alcohol and drugs?” Steinham asked.

“Are you kidding?” he asked. “That’s why I pay you the big bucks,” he added smiling winningly at Steinham.

“Try to clean it up some for your own good,” Steinham said.

“Hey, Steinham, everybody wants to party with Justin even the cops.”

They reached Justin’s penthouse and Steinham waved to him as he entered the building.  Unrepentant, Steinham thought.  Justin was right, he paid big bucks for the privilege of being football’s ‘bad boy’ quarterback. He was treated a class apart in high school, college, and now in the pros and like many players he’d never learned self-discipline. The money, the women, and the admiration all reinforced his denial.  Society creates its own monsters, Steinham thought and yet, the fans had no idea what Justin was really like. He was about as attractive as a petulant, spoiled two year old brat having a temper tantrum in a twenty three year old body. 

Justin went to his penthouse and called one of his girls for a night in to keep the press off his case.  Dhelia arrived an hour later knocked and posed at the door looking like a model right off of the runway.  .

“Hey, baby, you look great, come on in,” Justin said.

“Justin, baby,” she said and snuggled up to him, unbuttoning the top button of his tailored shirt.

He turned from her and led her by the hand into the living area which had a panoramic view of the city where the lights were beginning to come on as dusk rolled over the city.

“Let’s have a few drinks and relax, baby,” he demanded, and went to the bar and mixed two whiskey and sodas, not asking what she would like.

“I saw you on TV this morning,” she said, “You looked very handsome and sincere,” she told him.

“I’m just always in a good mood so they think I’m drunk,” he said shrugging his shoulders.  Justin honestly didn’t understand how he always ended up in these scrapes but figured that it was because he was so talented and popular.  Sure I like to party, doesn’t everyone? Some people are just butt jealous, he thought.

Justin’s doting parents bought him out of a couple of pregnancy scares in high school but he’d been more careful in college and that had saved him from the rape charge - no sperm, no DNA.  What remained was a he said, she said case and they were both at the party drinking so he came away with a dismissal. Stupid bitch, he thought. Why would he settle for one when he could have so many and that brought a happy smile to his handsome, craggy, face?

She was babbling on about something and he finally started listening, “The D.A. said you will be charged and tried, just like anyone else,” Dhelia said.

“What did you say, baby?  What D.A.?” he asked.

“This afternoon the D.A. held a press conference and said you wouldn’t get away with it just because you’re famous.”

He slapped her hard across the face, “What do you know, Bitch?”  He saw the fear crossed her face and it made him hard.

He reached out and took her in his arms, “I’m sorry, baby,” he shook his head as if to clear it, “What am I thinking, the D.A. said it, you didn’t.  I was napping all afternoon.”

He grew more roused as he felt her tremble and he shoved her down on her knees and unzipped his pants. Finally, she took him and as he enjoyed watching her eye blacken and her cheek swell his seed spilled into her giving him the greatest pleasure since he raped that girl at the college party.   

He handed her money and told her he’d call and then smoked a joint to relive the experience.  He wondered if those things he’d heard about online were true.  Women who liked being hurt, and wanted a master to obey?  He felt himself growing hard again.  Too bad he let the bitch go.

He mixed another drink and went to his den and turned on the computer.  What to look up, he asked himself.  Adult love, he decided and typed it into a search engine. He scanned the profiles but he was looking for something a little more hard core so he typed in sex slave and found meeting sites and web sites waiting to be exploited.  Women who wanted to be used and abused.

Soon he had several conversations with women and found out that there were open camera sites on line to talk to women like that. He brought his bottle of whisky into the den and tried to think of something to cover his face.  For now he would wrap a one bandana around his head gang style and put the second one on his lower face like a bandit.

Justin woke up naked with his head on the desk and the whiskey bottle empty at his side.  His head was throbbing and he was hungry.  He didn’t have household staff because he wanted his privacy so he called a deli that delivered and left his American Express number.  He stumbled to the bathroom and took two aspirin and an alka seltzer admiring himself in the mirror.  The pain begun to ease and he had coffee going by the time the delivery boy arrived. He figured that last night was just a lark, if he wanted sex he’d have it with a real woman, face to face. But by evening he was back at the computer with his bottle, joints, and pills.  This time he was going to write down the web addresses of the sites he found.  Many women indicated that they wanted to arrange meetings as soon as they knew him a little better.

That night he met a slight, docile, young woman who wasn’t really beautiful but he loved the way she addressed him.  She was shy and said that she was just out of a relationship with a very strict, but good master.

“Sir, I am very obedient,” she told him.

He told her, “Get on your knees, bitch.” And she immediately sank to her knees and looked up at him imploringly.

“Now crawl to me and suck my toes.” He watched her on the screen and she kneeled and obeyed every command.

He broached the possibility of meeting and she seemed eager.  She brought out a spiked collar and placed it around her neck and reached out to hand him the leash.  She was breathing hard and she went back to the drawer with the collar and brought out a small whip.  She began to flay herself and he knew he had to meet her.  He smiled to himself.  Justin has a slave he decided.

They talked two more times on line and then on the phone and finally agreed to meet in a little bar downtown not too far from his penthouse.  Justin knew they would end up in his penthouse for the weekend and she would be his.  She would fear and obey him and accept whatever he dished out.

Steinham knocked on the penthouse door.  He had been calling Justin for days and this coming Monday morning he was due in training camp but the team hadn’t heard from him either.  Steinham knocked again and then went down and got the manager.  The apartment was torn apart and they found the body of a woman in the living room and Justin in the bed, barely breathing from an overdose.  Steinham was almost sorry they got him to the hospital in time.