In Helen’s Hands Read online

  “Have you finished it?” she asked.

  “I think so,” I said. “There’s one spot I can’t get, but I think the rest is done.”

  “Good.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “Bring it down a week from Monday, and I’ll check through it. I have a lot more for you to work on. I’ll put a check in the mail for you today. We can negotiate everything else when you get here.”

  I gave her my address, and she hung up.

  I stood there like a fool, staring at the phone in my hand. I was going to visit Helen Robins in her home in ten days, and she was paying me to visit. My hands started to shake.

  Chapter Two

  The train ride from Boston to New York City seemed to take forever. Maybe it was my nervousness, but I felt as if I’d never get there even though it took only three hours.

  I’d decided to spend some of the money Helen sent and checked into a sleazy little hotel just off Washington Square in the Village rather than stay with friends. I knew Rhonda would have been more than happy to let me stay in her fifth-floor walk-up in midtown, but Rhonda was Ann’s friend, not mine. It’d be easier not to have to talk about what was or wasn’t happening between Ann and me. Rhonda probably knew more about it than I did.

  Besides, the last time we’d stayed with Rhonda, she’d asked Ann and me to help carry some grocery bags back to the apartment. The four-block walk and the fifth-floor climb hadn’t been a problem, but when we started unloading the bags, we found marijuana and cocaine at the bottom of each bag. It hit us then how Rhonda was paying for her beautiful clothes and high living style. I didn’t want to be involved in that again, especially this time.

  I registered, then went out in search of the subway. It stopped at every station for over eighty blocks. Then it took what seemed like hours to walk from the subway to Helen’s address. I knew that the Upper West Side was a busy place, but it seemed to have that knack of holding my target at bay. The streets knew I longed to get to Helen’s as soon as possible, so they continued to put both vehicular and foot traffic in front of me.

  Finally, for a moment, I stood looking up at the massive old stone building that covered half the block. It was one of the older buildings not far from the river, built during the earlier part of the twentieth century. It wasn’t right on the river, but I could tell that the apartments on the top floors had wonderful views. I hadn’t expected opulence, but why not? A celebrity lived here.

  I clutched the envelope with my work and prayed that Helen would approve of it and I wouldn’t make a fool of myself when I opened my mouth.

  The doorman called up to Helen’s apartment, then directed me to the elevators.

  “Fourth floor. Turn right,” were his only words.

  I took the elevator, listening to the old mechanisms grind, and walked down the corridor to my right. I took a deep breath and pushed the button next to the door marked “4D.”

  The door was opened by a slim young woman dressed in a T-shirt and the shortest shorts I’d ever seen. She had short mousey-brown hair and a low-cut top beneath a very pretty face.

  “Hi, I’m—”

  She cut me off. “Yeah, I know. Come on in.”

  At first, I was surprised by her curtness, but as I entered the apartment, my attention was taken by the massiveness of it. This was one of those old New York apartments that I only read about or saw on the 1950s and ’60s TV shows. It was a relic that had escaped the “divide and get more money” mentality that had taken apartments like this and made them into smaller one- and two-bedroom units that would bring in more revenue for the owner and add more residents to the neighborhood.

  I walked through the entry hall, which opened into a very formal living room. It was dominated by a long white leather couch surrounded by a cluster of leather chairs: two red, with heavy mahogany arms and legs, the third, an overstuffed wingback of black leather. The tables that dotted the room were all of matching mahogany. On the floor lay a beautiful Persian rug, mostly black and white with dots of red and gold threaded through it.

  Beyond the massive sofas and chairs, I could see a baby grand through open doors into the next room. On the left was an immense staircase, carpeted in black and white, which wound up past the massively high ceiling.

  “What did you bring?” Helen asked, omitting any greeting as she entered from a room to the right. She was dressed in a long, navy-blue silk dressing gown with blue mules on her feet. Her hair and makeup were perfect. The color of the gown against her dark skin gave her a very ethereal look.

  “Just this.” I smiled, trying to keep the awe out of my voice as I held out the manila envelope.

  “Great. Would you like some iced tea or coffee?”

  “Coffee would be nice,” I said, hoping that there’d be some conversation between us.

  “Neisy.” She nodded toward the slender girl, who disappeared into the next room.

  “Let me look at this,” Helen said, taking my manuscript out of the package as she sank into the big black chair. “Have a seat.”

  Without taking her eyes off the first sheet of music, she reached into the large oak humidor on the table beside her chair and withdrew one of her infamous cigarettes.

  I lowered myself onto the sofa, a little uneasy as Helen began to scan the music. I was nervous, like a child watching a teacher grade a paper. I took the cup of coffee that Neisy handed me and declined cream and sugar but kept my eyes on Helen’s face. Neisy held out a lighter to Helen’s cigarette, then disappeared again into the next room. I figured it must be a kitchen or pantry.

  I watched her leave, puzzled. She was responding to Helen like an employee, maybe a maid, but her dress, or lack thereof, astounded me. Her shorts, which almost rode up into her crack, showed almost everything she had. I could see she wasn’t wearing underwear. I also noticed a long red mark across the bottom of one butt cheek, like a welt or scar, or as if she’d sat on the edge of a hard bench for a long while. I turned my attention back to Helen as I sipped my coffee.

  It was hard to discern what she was thinking. At moments, there’d be a smile, then a frown, then intense studying. I sipped the coffee anxiously. After what seemed like hours, she laid the music down and looked up at me.

  “Not bad,” she said matter-of-factly. “There are some problems, but you got most of it. I may change some of it now that I see it on paper, but all in all…” She shrugged and let the sentence hang as she crushed her cigarette in an antique ashtray. She rose. “Be here at nine tomorrow morning, and we’ll go over this.”

  I stared. Was that a compliment or a condemnation?

  I thought she was merely going to walk away, but she stopped. “Don’t be such a frightened rabbit.” She smirked. “You look like you’ve been caught in the headlights.” She reached out and patted my cheek, then continued up the stairs and disappeared.

  I watched her go, still feeling her hand on my face. Was that it? Had I traveled all this way to merely be told to come back tomorrow? I felt like the Cowardly Lion waiting for his chance to see the Great Wizard of Oz.

  I turned to Neisy, who stood at the doorway. She’d watched Helen walk up the stairs, then turned to me.

  “Is that it?” I asked. “Is she always so…abrupt?” I set my coffee on the table.

  Neisy spoke for the first time since I’d entered the room. “Actually, that’s the happiest I’ve seen her in over a month.” She walked past me as if expecting me to follow and opened the door to let me out.

  “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said as I left.

  “I guess.” She shrugged as she closed the door behind me.

  Abruptness seemed to be the modus operandi here.

  * * *

  As I took the subway back downtown, questions flooded my mind. One of the first was Neisy. Who was she? I’d never seen a maid in shorts that short before, but then, how many maids had I ever seen?

  I got off at West Fourth Street and walked up the street. I was in Greenwich Village. Everything shook with energy.
Everyone hurried to get someplace to sit and relax, then they quickly walked away. It was a pace I hadn’t experienced in Boston.

  That night, I changed into a fresh shirt and went out into the Village. I’d never been there alone before, but the thought of exploring this haven of LGBT lifestyle excited me.

  I promised myself the run of the city. I’d worked hard for the past few weeks, and from the sound of Helen’s comments, I might not have free time for another few weeks. I’d check out several of the bars around Sheridan Square but first, my rumbling stomach reminded me that I should stop into Tiffany’s or another coffee shop for a quick sandwich. On the way toward Seventh Avenue, I passed the window of the Pink PussyCat. Almost embarrassed to have someone see me gawking at the sex toys hanging in the window, I nevertheless stopped and gawked at the sex toys hanging in the window. Something about them, the mystery, the danger, something, caused my stomach to churn. I felt an excited heat in my crotch. I’d read about these but never seen them before. My college dorm-mates had giggled about some of them. Did people really use these?

  I hurried past the store.

  * * *

  I was at Helen’s door at precisely 9:00 a.m. the next morning. I’d walked around the block twice to eat up the time because I’d gotten there twenty minutes early. The doorman waved me to the elevators as he called upstairs to announce me.

  Neisy opened the door before I’d rung the bell. Still brusque, she pointed into the next room where Helen was busy at the piano, then disappeared into a room to the right.

  I marched into the piano room and smiled. “Good morning.”

  “Ah, good, you’re here.” She stood up. “Play this for me.”

  She stepped aside as I slid onto the piano bench and looked at the all-too-familiar manuscript. I played the section she indicated. When I finished, Helen shook her head and laughed.

  “Classical training, huh?”

  “Yes, I have my master’s from New England Conservatory.”

  “It’s a shame.” She smiled. “Classical training has ruined some of the best jazz musicians. Here, play a C7 in the lower octave.” As I started to reach for the chord, she pressed my hand onto the keyboard. “Don’t be so careful. Straighten your fingers. No nice curves.” She took my hand and adjusted it. “Just throw and hit. Don’t cover and press.”

  I looked up. It was a direct conflict with everything I’d studied in the past ten years.

  Helen smiled. “If you want to play good jazz, it has to start here.” She tapped my chest. “Don’t even worry about how your fingers look. They’ll follow your heart. I promise.” When I nodded, she said, “Now, let’s go over some of these runs. I’m almost afraid that they can’t be notated. But you made a good attempt.”

  We sat at the piano for the rest of the morning, going over her chordal voicings. Her hands were delicate but just enough larger than mine that I hadn’t gotten every chord exact. I knew what I heard, but there were times when her fingers hit more than one note at a time. Those were the places that had me confused. Once I began to understand her style, it seemed to fall into place.

  At lunchtime, we took a break. Neisy had sandwiches ready, beautiful smoked turkey with crisp lettuce and slices of tomatoes. When she placed the tray on the table, she looked at me.

  “What do you drink with your meals?” she asked.

  “Whatever you have.”

  “The only thing we always have is this blasted carrot and celery juice that Miss Robins insists on.” The way she exaggerated Helen’s name almost sounded disrespectful.

  “It’s good for you,” Helen said.

  “It’s good for you,” Neisy parried. Then she turned to me again. “There’s some Coke or ginger ale if you prefer. I sneak it in when she isn’t looking.”

  “Coke would be great.” With that, Neisy turned and disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Brat!” Helen called after her. “8:06 tomorrow night!”

  I didn’t know what was happening, but I didn’t want to be stuck in the middle. I concentrated on my sandwich and downed the glass of Coke Neisy had set in front of me.

  Chapter Three

  Tuesday had been a day of work, work, and more work. We went over all of the pages I had brought, and Helen gave me another stack of tapes to transcribe. I was going to be very busy.

  When I finally left Helen’s apartment at 6:30, I could barely drag myself back to my hotel. Once back at the hotel, I fell into bed without even thinking about eating. I was too tired to think, and the melodies and jazz riffs I’d been transcribing still ran through my brain whether I wanted them to or not.

  Wednesday was no different. I listened and transcribed and listened some more. I was totally engulfed in the music. Nothing else could fit into my brain. I had finished for the day and waited at the copy service on the corner for them to duplicate the music. I was about to hail a cab to take me to a women’s bar in the East Village when I realized I still held the music. I would have no place to put it, and I didn’t want to lose it, so I turned back to Helen’s.

  The doorman waved to me as I headed for the elevators and made my way to Helen’s door. She’d given me a key so I could go in and work when she wasn’t home. I trotted through the living room and set the music on the piano.

  I could hear crying coming from upstairs. It sounded like Neisy, much too young to be Helen, and she seemed to be in a lot of pain.

  I hastened up the stairs to see if I could help and went toward a door that was ajar. Quietly, I opened it and looked inside.

  It was a dimly lit room with strange shadows making the bizarre interior scary. Strips of leather and chains hung from the ceiling. Odd-looking pieces of furniture were scattered around the room, but my eyes were riveted to the far wall.

  Neisy was naked, hanging limply by her wrists from chains that hung well above her head. Ugly red welts lined her back and butt. I could see her sobs as they shook her body. A small spotlight illuminated her. Behind her, holding a short black whip, stood Helen.

  I watched as twice more, Helen made fresh red stripes across Neisy’s back.

  “Please, Mistress,” Neisy cried. “Please. Enough. I beg you.”

  Helen just laughed and let another swing of the whip fall very close to the bottom of Neisy’s ass.

  Neisy let out a wail and tried to press farther into the wall.

  Realization of what I was witnessing slowly crept into my mind. I’d heard about this type of sex-play but had never seen it, never knew anyone who practiced it.

  I didn’t realize Helen even knew I was there until she was standing in front of me. I couldn’t read the look on her face. Amusement? Anger?

  “Well?” she said.

  My breath was coming out in short quick gasps. I glanced past Helen, barely able to take my eyes off of Neisy’s back.

  “I…I’m sorry…” I managed. “I heard her crying…”

  Helen looked at me with a very evil-looking grin. “Would you like to join us?”

  I looked into her eyes, now aware that she was enjoying my discomfort. Oh my God! What should I do? Should I just leave?

  Without waiting, she said, “Take your clothes off. The only person allowed to be clothed in this room is me.”

  I stood there like a zombie, my eyes still on Neisy as Helen unbuttoned my shirt and let it fall over my shoulders. I didn’t usually wear a bra, so as it fell away, it brushed my nipples. I looked down at them. They were standing out like flagpoles. Was I that turned on? Then she unzipped my shorts, which fell to the floor, and I realized how wet my panties felt. I wasn’t even sure what was happening, I was dumbstruck as I glanced back at Neisy.

  Helen walked back over to Neisy and whispered something in her ear as she caressed her head and shoulders. Neisy nodded, and Helen turned her attention back to me. “This is new to you,” Helen said.

  I guess I nodded because she gave a quick laugh and stepped back to me, even closer than before. As she crossed behind me, I felt her hot breath on my ear. />
  “But it excites you?” She reached into my bikinis and ran her finger slowly across my cunt hair. “Oh yes, it does excite you, doesn’t it?” She chuckled as she felt the wetness between my legs. I tried to swallow, to put some moisture back in my mouth as her fingers probed me. The feel of her touch sent shock waves throughout my body. Was Helen Robins really touching me? Was this what I had dreamed about for years?

  “And you don’t know what to do about it.” It seemed to amuse her. She closed the door. and slowly walked around me. “Kneel down and observe.”

  I don’t remember agreeing, but there I was, on my knees.

  She returned to Neisy and cranked the wheel on the wall to lower the chains. Neisy sank slowly against her. As she released Neisy’s wrists, Helen held her lovingly and rocked her back and forth. Neisy seemed to relax into her as the tears still streamed down her face. Finally, Helen’s voice broke the silence. “Well, Neisy, this bad little girl seems to have interrupted us. Do you think she needs to be punished for barging in here uninvited?”

  Neisy seemed to recognize me for the first time. She nodded slowly. “Yes, Mistress,” she whispered, her breath still ragged as her tears subsided. “She interrupted uninvited.”

  “And you weren’t completely finished, were you?” Helen asked.

  “No. Mistress, I wasn’t finished.” An evil look crossed her face as she stared at me.

  I began to get frightened that this would disappear; that it was all a dream. “I…I just came up because I heard her crying…”

  “Quiet!”

  I jumped as Helen’s voice boomed out.

  “There are rules in this room. Either obey them or leave right now. Rule one, don’t speak unless you’ve been given permission.” Helen helped Neisy to the floor, then strolled up to me. “Do you want to stay, or do you want to leave?”