Chapter Text
Laura Peterson didn’t usually like pictures of herself, but she had to admit the cover photo for her new feature in Design magazine was a good one. Her assistant, Gordon, had sent a courier over with proof pages first thing Thursday morning, and Laura had reviewed the article and photos as she drank coffee and enjoyed a breakfast of oatmeal and fresh fruit.
For the cover, she’d been dressed in an evergreen velvet double-breasted blazer, a silky cream-colored button down, the collar left rakishly open to show her necklaces and the buttons only starting near the middle of her breasts, and slim fitting black leather ankle pants. On her feet were a pair of classic black Louboutin heels that were ridiculously high and that she would’ve privately hated having to walk in for any length of time. Fortunately, for most of the photo shoot she’d been seated.
A prominent feature of the shoot had been a curvy chaise lounge, the same color as her blouse with a row of gold upholstery tacks along the bottom, set very low to the ground on short black wood legs. Laura perched atop the lower arc of the chaise, her legs spread and her elbows resting mid thigh so her hands, with the several rings she usually wore accenting her long fingers, draped casually between her knees.
The sharp lines of her blazer and the remarkable height of her heels gave her an interesting edge in contrast to the rest of the room, which was soft and bright, a modern and stylish but staid, in Laura’s opinion, bedroom. She couldn’t complain, as she hadn’t staged the photo. The one thing the shoot designer had pulled from her usual aesthetic was the chaise, which appeared to be made of high-end leather, but Laura knew it was a quality synthetic instead. After all, furniture designed for sex needed to be easy to clean.
The article opened with an overview of her career as an interior designer. After nearly two decades, she was what every blog and magazine piece described as “much sought after.” She liked to interview her clients, as if she were a journalist with a sprinkling of therapist mixed in, and she was known for her ability to understand their wants and needs and bring her own unique design sense into play to create beautiful rooms for every occasion and for any desire.
So ten years ago, when one of her regular clients asked her to design a sex room, Laura, while surprised and a little amused, was intrigued to try her hand at something different. She considered herself to be very sex positive and open-minded, and thought she was well-versed in the worlds of sex toys and kinks, but as she designed that first room with her usual meticulous attention to detail, she discovered there was quite a bit to learn.
The room was a success and featured in several online design blogs. And so Laura, at the age of 50, now received more requests to design sex rooms and fewer calls to do traditional spaces like living rooms, kitchens, and offices.
With the change in scenery, so to speak, she found that her client interviews took on a much different flavor. Laura was fascinated to see who would open up in conversations about sex and who would need a little extra nudge. She’d always liked learning what made people tick, but motivations often changed behind closed doors, and some people needed help to shed their public personas and allow other aspects of themselves to come out and play.
After designing her first few sex rooms, Laura had started to develop a network of professional contacts in specialized areas. So if a client was interested in trying flogging, for example, in a safe environment with someone experienced in that form of pleasure—or punishment, she would make an appointment and they’d take a little field trip.
Over the years she’d found that most people had a persistent misconception that sex rooms had to be dark and dungeon-like, owing in no small part to the wild popularity of a book-series-turned-movies that featured a character’s “playroom” hidden away in a multi-million dollar high rise condo. However, as Laura explained in this and other magazine interviews, and to her clients many times over, a sex room could be whatever you want it to be. Of course there were those who wanted a dungeon filled with BDSM toys, but there were plenty of people who simply wanted a unique, often luxurious space in which they could relax and feel sexy and explore, with a partner or on their own.
The article included closer looks at a few of Laura’s favorite rooms, but as she reviewed the text and photos, she mused that her most favorite designs were the ones she couldn’t actually talk about, having signed non-disclosure agreements with a number of her more high-profile clients.
One of her early designs was for a very well known, very conservative politician and his June Cleaver-esque stay-at-home wife who had established something of a name for herself with her popular cooking blog. It was during her talks with this couple and the subsequent design process that Laura learned how to never show surprise at any request. She’d also made friends with a local leathersmith who asked no questions and produced an exceptional custom harness from Laura’s sketched design, complete with stars-and-stripes embellishments and measured to fit a specific pair of matronly hips. The hit of that room was definitely the sideboard Laura privately thought of as “the pegging station,” which also featured an array of butt plugs and a selection of lubricants to fit any mood.
Another room she was fond of was a spa-themed design created for a self-styled punk-pop princess. The young woman was covered in tattoos and piercings and gave off a generally hardcore vibe, but as Laura got to know her and her adorably nerdy IT boyfriend, she discovered a craving for softness and tranquility. Laura used this as her guide for creating a peaceful, relaxing space where the musician could disappear and recharge after a night on stage surrounded by distorted guitar riffs and screaming fans.
And then there was the room she designed for a bisexual romance writer who wanted a place to explore and push her own boundaries, privately or with a partner, both in the name of self-gratification and research. Despite being well-known for writing steamy sex scenes, between men and women and between two women, Laura learned during the course of their interviews that the author had never actually had sex with another woman. Having a wealth of personal knowledge to draw from, Laura introduced her to the world of strap ons and bullet vibes and included space in the bookish but sexy room for a selection of erotic lesbian literature. If the author’s most recent books, both scorching sapphic romances without a single male character, were any indication, Laura had done her job very well.
But she’d also done her job very well in the rooms featured in this article. Laura prided herself on her ability to make her clients happy and never considered a job complete until they were fully pleased with the end results.
For that reason, she’d stretched herself somewhat thin over the last several years. Now she was making an effort to pull back, for her own sanity, and so she was more selective of which clients she took on and tried to only have one project on her plate at a time. Gordon went through every request and forwarded her only those he thought she’d be most interested in. Her previous design had wrapped the week before and Laura had her next client lined up to meet that afternoon.
After reviewing the article, she sent her few notes to Gordon, washed her breakfast dishes, and prepared for the meeting. She wore her long, dark hair down in loose waves, and kept her makeup light. She chose slim-fitting black trousers and a simple silky black tank top with a deep v-neckline, and layered on a couple of gold necklaces, their thicker chains providing a subtle contrast to the delicate cross necklace she always wore. To finish, she slipped on a low pair of black heels and then, as it would be a cool early spring day, she selected one of her favorite coats.
The black lapels were a sharp contrast to the smaller houndstooth check pattern of the rest of the long coat, which was a soft blend of black, cream, and earthy brown tones. It had cost a fortune but it was one of the first high-end pieces she bought for her wardrobe when just starting out, after her first few clients, so she appreciated not only how she looked in the garment but also the way it made her feel as she reflected on her professional successes.
Just as she reached her car, Laura’s phone rang with a call from Gordon.
“I’m on my way to meet with this new client now,” Laura said. “Depending on the room, I’m probably going to want Daniel to be my contractor again.”
“He’s done great work on the last few projects with you,” Gordon said. “I’ll check on his availability, but I’m sure it won’t be a problem.” There was a brief silence as Laura started the car and the phone switched to bluetooth. “ Are you ready to look at more potential clients?” Gordon finally asked. “I’ve had a few interesting queries I can forward you now.”
“No, not when I’m just starting with this new one. I’ll let you know how I feel after today though.”
For now, she wanted no distractions. One of the perks of success was the ability to set her own schedule and be her own boss. And for Laura, the design process had always been the most enjoyable part of any project, so when she could take her time and really get to know her clients, and often have fun in the process, she found the end result was usually more enjoyable too.
Laura went into every new project with an open mind and tried to have no preconceptions about who her clients might be. The woman she was on her way to meet had given little away in her query email and the short exchanges that followed, so beyond her name and the fact that her boyfriend lived and worked in the city, Laura knew very little going in, which in this case was exactly how she liked it. Even with this approach, she found that very few things surprised her anymore. But as she got older, she thought maybe she didn’t much like surprises anyway.
She and Gordon continued chatting until she pulled up outside a quaint little house in a quiet little neighborhood. Laura ended the call and then took a moment to observe her surroundings while drawing a few deep breaths.
It was the kind of picturesque neighborhood that had tree-lined streets and white picket fences and older houses that were all well-kept. Laura had driven around it many times before, as it wasn’t far from her own condo, but she had never given the area more than a cursory look. Now, she noticed a park down the block where kids played on swings and slides; people of all ages were out walking their dogs or running or riding bikes; across the street, an old man stooped over a garden with pruning shears and Laura watched his wife carefully step down from the front porch to hand him a glass of lemonade, which he accepted with a smile before pressing a sweet kiss to her wrinkled cheek.
Despite her aim to go into new client meetings with no preconceptions, she couldn’t help but make a few assumptions once she got this initial lay of the land. If she had to guess, the woman who lived here would be looking to settle down and start her own family; the boyfriend was probably someone she dated in college, maybe even a childhood sweetheart, and Laura wouldn’t be surprised to find out he was thinking of proposing soon. They would probably want a room that could serve as a relaxing sanctuary, a space where they could further deepen their relationship and strengthen their connection. At this point, Laura had met enough clients and designed enough rooms to notice that her first impressions were almost always right. She just had a sense for these things.
The designer nodded to herself and took her briefcase from the passenger seat before exiting the car and moving around to the back hatch, where she pulled out what she affectionately thought of as her “bag of tricks.” She straightened her coat and tossed her hair over her shoulder. As she made her way up the flower-lined walk to a bright blue front door, Laura felt the familiar excitement that came at the start of any project. Even if her initial guesses were right, she never tired of finding out what private lives hid behind these public facades.
Laura knocked and waited, listening to the bees buzzing in the flowerbeds, the twittering of birds in the trees, a car making its slow, careful way down the street. She could see the appeal of this environment. She felt relaxed and at peace.
And then the door opened and the world went silent as Laura got her first look at her new client.
Blonde-haired and blue-eyed, the woman had a youthful glow but was still older than Laura had expected. She gave off a nervous but excited energy, and she gazed up at Laura with the somewhat enamored expression that the designer had yet to get used to with clients who were already fans of her work.
“Wow,” the woman said, a grin spreading across her face. “Laura Peterson!”
Laura, recovering from her surprise, smiled and nodded, playfully returning the starstruck greeting. “Well, if it isn’t Bradley Jackson!”
The blonde laughed a little and said, “Yep, that’s me.” She stared a moment more and then seemed to return to herself as she shook her head and stepped back to open the door wider. “Please, come in.”
* * * * *
Bradley Jackson sighed and looked away from the book she was reading for probably the fourth time. She’d curled up in the chair by the window in her bedroom, just to take a moment for herself before the day moved on, and she hadn’t meant to slip into this feeling when she idly picked up the book from her nightstand. By now, she knew the places where it would get to her. This morning it was the bottom of page five:
“At a job interview at a university, three men sitting across from me at a table. On my cv it says that I am currently working on a book about the color blue. I have been saying this for years without writing a word. It is, perhaps, my way of making my life feel ‘in progress’ rather than a sleeve of ash falling off a lit cigarette. One of the men asks, Why blue? People ask me this question often. I never know how to respond. We don’t get to choose what or whom we love, I want to say. We just don’t get to choose.”
Bluets by Maggie Nelson had been an instant favorite for Bradley. She’d resisted reading it for the longest time, feeling it was overhyped by the few friends who recommended it. Once she’d given in, she couldn’t decide what she regretted more—having put it off or having read it at all. It was full of lines that knocked her off balance and made her examine her own “in progress” life.
Was it in progress though? Bradley had started to feel like her life was stalling out and she was in need of a change. The problem was that she wasn’t entirely sure what change she needed. To any outside observer, her life was perfect.
Well, maybe not perfect, but it was fine.
Basically.
By the time she turned 40, Bradley had established herself as a freelance graphic designer and also worked as the social media manager for a major publishing house. She’d never married and never had children, mostly because she’d never been sure either of those things were for her. Her parents hadn’t particularly enjoyed marriage and she didn’t have many fond memories to look back on of her own childhood, so for most of her adult life, family had been far from the front of her mind.
Bradley had met Cory Ellison at a joint holiday party thrown by the publishing house and their law firm neighbors in the same building. A name partner, Cory had been charming and easy to befriend. They had an on again, off again relationship before finally deciding to get serious about each other. But now that they were nearing their one year anniversary, Bradley felt her love life was lacking.
On principle, Bradley didn’t believe in love. That is, love as a noun, as an idea that someone could feel such attraction and affection for another who might love them in the same way, as an ideal that two people could live “happily ever after,” attached and devoted and desirous of one another for as long as they both shall live.
Love as a verb was another thing entirely. And while Bradley would never call it “making love,” she did enjoy sex, especially when she was younger (despite one reckless encounter that had led to her having an abortion at fifteen), and she wished for more of that feeling in her life now. It was the only kind of love she’d ever known, the only form of love she understood.
She looked again at the book in her hands, flipped forward a few pages, and read, “Fucking leaves everything as it is.”
Bradley didn’t want things to stay as they were though. She wanted change, she wanted more, and was frustrated by her inability to pinpoint exactly what that looked like.
Cory’s firm was expanding, so he was often consumed by work and didn’t always have time for her like he had when they first met. And since he worked in the city, it wasn’t exactly convenient to escape to the suburbs and spend the night regularly at his girlfriend’s house.
Bradley loved her place though, had worked hard for it and was proud of how much of a home she’d made for herself. She was loath to move to the city anyway. It was fine for meetings and work events, but she worked mostly from home and tended to feel more at ease away from the crowds and noise. It frustrated Cory to no end, but Bradley wouldn’t trade her quiet neighborhood for anything.
Consequently, she decided her home needed a space that was enticing for both of them. She was sure Cory liked being there, it was just hard for him to get away sometimes, easier after a long day of work to crash at his own place closer to the office. But since his place was smaller and she didn’t spend as much time there, she made an effort to make it worthwhile for him to be at her house instead. She made sure the fridge and pantry always had some of his favorite foods and snacks, and she kept a bottle of his favorite whiskey on the little bar cart she’d purchased while in an ambitious mood to entertain more. And despite her own preference for lighter colors, she changed the bedding in her room to the darker shades she knew he liked, and kept the latest issues of his favorite magazines on his nightstand.
She also bought some lingerie she felt sure he’d like to see her in, but she’d worn the lacy red ensemble exactly once, because aside from a perfunctory smile before undressing her, Cory didn’t have much of a reaction. And the sex they’d had after was the same as it always was.
Her friend and one of the editors at the publishing house, Alexandra Levy, had initially questioned whether Cory was worth the effort.
“I know you say relationships don’t have to be transactional,” Alex had said, “but you shouldn’t be the one doing all the work.”
Bradley reasoned that he was a good enough man—he always paid the bill, bought flowers for her birthday and on Valentine’s Day, and held the door open whenever he walked ahead of her. And even though she still wasn’t sure marriage was for her, and she highly doubted she’d ever be able to say she was “in love” with him, she thought she could see a future with him.
Maybe.
If she squinted and tilted her head just so.
At this point though, she’d been squinting and tilting her head so much, she worried she would fall over. Cory might be “good enough” but was that really what she wanted? For the past few months he really hadn’t been around as much as she might like, meaning they hadn’t had as much sex as she might like… or as much fucking or love or… whatever.
Bradley again flipped through the pages of the book until she read, “I have been trying, for some time now, to find dignity in my loneliness. I have been finding this hard to do.”
Was she lonely? Would she feel less so if she could simply convince Cory to spend more time with her?
The book continued: “It is easier, of course, to find dignity in one’s solitude. Loneliness is solitude with a problem. Can blue solve the problem, or can it at least keep me company within it?”
Blue was Bradley’s favorite color. She liked all shades of blue. Some people thought it was the color of sadness, that was even the phrase when someone was down, “oh, I’m just feeling blue.” The author of Bluets had a more complicated relationship with the color, with the person she associated the color with…
When she’d first read the book, Bradley wondered if Cory was her blue person. But she found she liked the color too much to associate it with him. Cory was, without a doubt, red—a color of boldness, of energy, of passion… except lately he was more passionate about work than about her.
Despite the melancholy outlook of the book, Bradley wanted a blue kind of love—because blue looked and felt different to her than it did to the author. She wanted the freedom to explore, the opportunity to be open, not only with herself but with a partner who wanted the same. Her early life had lacked emotional depth and trust, she’d had no security, so much so that she could barely recognize those were the things she wanted now.
A month ago, Alex recommended Laura Peterson, an interior designer who’d worked on the kitchen and living room at the Levy family beach house, and apparently had a very unique specialty.
Bradley initially scoffed at the idea of a “sex room”—where would she put it? Her bedroom needed to be a place where she could sleep too. But then she looked the designer up and was impressed by her online portfolio and interested in the idea not of a sex room, but of a sexy room. She was also intrigued by the woman behind the designs. A raven-haired beauty with striking green eyes that seemed to bore into her even through a computer screen, Laura looked like the kind of person Bradley could open up to—and from the numerous blogs Bradley perused, she could tell interviews were an important part of Ms. Peterson’s process.
A week later, she plucked up her courage and sent an initial email, querying availability and fees. After a brief exchange, they set a time for Laura to come over and view the room and begin preliminary discussions.
Bradley had spent the morning bustling around the house, making sure it was tidy throughout. Even though she knew Laura would likely be focused on one room, she still wanted to give a good first impression and make it easy for Laura to get a sense of her overall design aesthetic before they even began their talks.
It was a nervous reaction, Bradley knew. She was generally a private person, and yet here she was about to open her door to a complete stranger who she actually hoped would read her like a book and use that knowledge to design the room of her dreams. Earlier, when she’d found herself rearranging cans in the pantry so that all the labels faced out, she realized her nerves were getting the best of her. Laura certainly wouldn’t be inspecting her pantry or opening kitchen cabinets and drawers—
Suddenly, Bradley had realized there was one drawer that might need attention. She’d raced upstairs and opened the bottom dresser drawer, only to be reminded how dull it really was. Besides the red lingerie, the drawer held only a few silky pajama sets, a vibrator she she knew was in desperate need of recharging, and an unopened box containing a set of velcro handcuffs that clipped in the middle. Bradley resolved not to show any of this unless Laura directly asked.
And that was how she ended up sitting by the window in a depressed funk, flipping through a book that would do nothing to bring her out of it.
She set Bluets on her nightstand and stood, looking around the bedroom once more to be sure it was presentable. And then she went downstairs to wait.
When she heard the knock at the door, Bradley had just finished putting a pot of coffee on to brew. She ran her fingers through her long blonde waves, fluffing her hair, and then adjusted her oversized dark blue cashmere sweater as she gave herself one last glance in the small entryway mirror. She’d opted for a casual look, with black leggings and slip-on flats, as that’s how she most often was while at home.
She opened the door and found the woman was taller than she’d expected, and in person her eyes were somehow even more stunning. Bradley felt her heart beat a little faster with anticipation—for what, she would later realize, she wasn’t exactly sure.
“Wow,” Bradley said, unable to hide her admiration and excitement. “Laura Peterson!”
The woman smiled and blushed, or so it seemed to Bradley, before replying, “Well, if it isn’t Bradley Jackson!”
Bradley just managed to keep herself from giggling as she said, “Yep, that’s me.” For a moment, she continued to stare at Laura, but then realized she wasn’t being the best hostess. “Please, come in,” she said, stepping back to open the door wider.
“Thank you,” Laura said, crossing the threshold. She looked around and Bradley found herself holding her breath, wondering what first impressions the designer might be forming.
From the entryway, at the foot of the stairs, one could look left toward the dining room, which opened to the kitchen and living area beyond, or look right toward her office, which was somewhat cluttered but in the charming sort of way that she felt indicated an artist worked there.
“Your home is lovely,” Laura said. The woman’s smile was so warm and genuine, Bradley almost melted.
“Can I offer you some coffee?” she asked instead.
“I’d love some.”