Shades of dominatioe rom.., p.81
Shades of Domination: Fifty by Fifty #2: A Billionaire Romance Boxed Set, page 81
"And this is my assistant, Shauna Andersen," he nodded in the direction of the dark blond graduate student by his side. "The standard procedure we use involves a formal questionnaire that we will conduct with you separately. I will interview you, and Ms. Andersen will interview your partner, Courage. Then we will return here and conclude the interview by asking you a few open ended questions, and giving you an opportunity to share anything you felt we didn't cover, but you feel is important, or that you want us to document."
Benton Johnny looked up at Dr. Desmet, his brown eyes somewhat distant. "Have you interviewed many American Indian couples?" His hand seemed to automatically touch his partner's thigh in an unconscious display of protection or ownership.
"To answer your question specifically, you are the first, although we do have some additional Native American couples scheduled to meet over the next six months of the study. We have also been presenting on our project at several national Native American Conferences, and passing out short form questionnaires that touch on most of the topics we'll be discussing. That's already given us a few hundred returned surveys we'll incorporate into our final report. We feel it's important to include more elaborate and detailed data that we obtain with face to face interviews like this one."
That was Shauna's cue to add, "And as we mentioned in our initial letter to you, the final report will be shared with you after it's completed. At the end of the interview, we'll also ask if you know any other couples that you think would be appropriate to include in our study. We would greatly appreciate it if you would be willing to contact these couples to let them know what the experience was like--that you were treated in a respectful and professional manner. This completely confidential federally funded research on sexuality will be the most inclusive in terms of ethnicity and social class that's ever been done."
Benton Johnny looked at his partner, apparently giving her permission to speak. "We know a few other couples here on the reservation,” she said, “and some more in other communities. Sometimes we get together."
Courage smiled at the White interviewers. One was a very attractive European man with a slight accent she couldn't place, even though she had spent some time modeling internationally before she started attending college. Shauna, his young assistant, barely looked older than Courage. She thought about the first time she had met Benton, just over a year ago. One of the requirements for the interview was that they needed to have been in a relationship for a minimum of a year.
On the morning they met, she had been looking at a copper plaque that read: Make my enemy brave and strong, so that if defeated, I will not be ashamed." She had laughed, wondering if it was the Yellow Cedar Casino's mission statement. Courage continued to walk around, admiring the impressive Native American art collection that surrounded her. Much of it was created by artists from this reservation. She stood in front of a framed painting of traditionally dressed people in a canoe carved with the design of a raven. Most were wearing hats woven of cedar bark. In the reflection of the glass, Courage saw one of her braids had been caught on her knapsack, so she straightened it out. She was still nervous and adjusting to her new life as a college student. She felt as far away from her little tribal home in Idaho as she did when she stepped onto the runway in Milan the first time.
Those trips were always short, but it felt as if her first semester at the State University was taking forever. She missed her family. She had come early today for her appointment to interview Benton Johnny because her adviser had told her there was a lot worth seeing. At the entrance, Courage had passed an enormous abstract figure of an Indian Chief next to a buffalo. This brought a smile to her face, since she knew it wasn't really representative of people from the reservation where she was standing. They were coastal people here. No buffalo were local, and eagle feather warbonnets definitely were not part of coastal tradition. That was one of the first things she had learned in her Native American Studies class. "Maybe the sculpture is a salute to other tribal nations,” she thought.
“So, how did you first meet your partner?” Shauna asked Courage, pulling the younger woman's thoughts back to the elaborate room chosen for their one-on-one interview. Benton's home was a major mansion, and his taste in art was displayed everywhere. He had told her he felt a responsibility to support not only his own tribal artists, but others as well. It was more than an investment for him. It was a way of giving back.
“I had an appointment to interview him as part of my communications class.” Courage remembered she had glanced at her watch and decided it would be better to be a little early than a minute late when meeting with one of America's best known entrepreneurs.
“May I help you?” the heavy Native woman at the front desk asked in a tone that clearly indicated helping anyone was not her priority. While she smiled, the smile didn't even come close to her dark eyes.
Courage thought to herself the day was not starting off the way she had hoped. She noticed the woman was wearing a staff ID on a colorful beaded necklace. It read: Edith Scabyrobe. “I suppose if that was my last name,” Courage thought, “I wouldn't smile a lot either.”
“I'm here to see Mr. Johnny,” she said shyly. She smiled—she knew she had a good smile, unlike Ms. Scabyrobe. Courage's smile was never fake—she was a happy person. Usually shy, but happy. She had always been told by her mother she had huckleberry eyes. Courage took the opportunity to flash them at Edith Scabyrobe in an attempt to win her over. Her mother had told her to always get on the right side of whoever guarded the employer's door. She had also told Courage and her siblings, “Never give all your love or all your money to one man.”
“So you're here from the University.” Ms. Scabyrobe wasn't asking a question. Courage had learned long ago less educated people sometimes resent those who were trying to better themselves. Maybe it was this. Or maybe it was due to the fact some overweight middle-aged women with no wedding ring on their fingers aren't thrilled to look at eighteen year olds who have worked as professional models. The only thing Courage knew was Ms. Scabyrobe definitely was not responding to her charms.
The frowning woman stabbed a button on her phone and announced “Your 11:30 appointment has shown up.” She said it with the distaste of a nurse letting a doctor know his rectal examination patient was ready.
Courage hoped she would have better luck with the CEO--”Hah,” she laughed to herself. “Big Chief Executive Officer. Now that would be a great Indian name.” Courage fought back an actual laugh, figuring she didn't want to make an even worse first impression. The older woman nodded towards the door and went back to her keyboard. Courage figured she was dismissed.
She pushed open the door and walked in. Naturally she had seen photos of Benton Johnny—who hadn't? He had gotten international attention for his early success. There weren't that many American Indian entrepreneurs who made a major fortune and then returned to their reservations to share their success. The average income here had been below poverty level. He had been home for nearly three years and things were changing. All because of Benton Johnny.
“Good morning,” he said. He was still in his thirties. His hair brushed his wide shoulders and was a few shades darker than hers. He looked as if he could also work as a model. She thought how much fun it would be to do a photo shoot with him in front of the camera. She hoped it would be for a Calvin Klein underwear ad—she knew she'd like to see him in underwear. Holding that image in her mind, she felt the Calvin Klein thong she was wearing get a little damp. “Jeez,” she thought to herself, “what's wrong with me?”
Benton Johnny was irritated. He had just gotten a call about a delay in the delivery of the new chairs for the conference room. He hadn't had a damn cup of coffee yet, and knew he had to squeeze in an interview with some student from the University. He definitely did not want to do this—he had had to do so many interviews, and each one seemed to have the same set of questions. He considered just giving the standard answers without bothering to wait for the questions. That would certainly speed things up and let him grab some coffee. Edith let him know the kid had arrived. He knew the Casino could always use some positive publicity with the State University, especially since the state itself had been pressing for a higher cut of the reservation's profits. He reminded himself this was not about him but about driving up the local revenue. The more University students who spent their money in the Casino the better.
The door opened and one of the most beautiful young Native women he had ever seen entered his office. She looked as if she had stepped out of one of the paintings from his collection. He almost stood up to shake her hand, but he realized he was starting to tent his pants, so it would be better to conceal that fact by staying in his seat. Besides, it helped to establish dominance by staying seated. He told her to take a chair.
He caught himself staring and quickly said something to her. She smiled back with teeth that looked as if she had worn braces for a long time, to get to that level of perfection. Her skin tone was a little lighter than his, and her face was so smooth his fingers hungered to reach out and touch her. He had worked so hard to get where he was. It had taken almost all he could give to create the resources he needed. It hadn't been easy being American Indian in the financial circles he had to endure. None of the 1% had ever seen anyone like Benton Johnny before.
When he had gone to one of his first meetings with a potential investor, the man had assumed Benton was a parking attendant and tossed him the keys to his Lexus. Benton had done his song and dance to confirm the investment that had helped start the ball rolling for him. He had grown up with low expectations from most of the non-Natives he had known.
“Faggot!” That's what some of the boys called him when he showed up at the college prep school and they saw his long hair. He cut it off that night. His mother had cried when she had seen what he had done. She had worked so hard at getting him a scholarship so he could get a good education. He had closed off that side of himself and hid it so well, the other male students eventually stopped thinking of him as “that Indian,” and just tortured him for being brown. There weren't that many “minorities” at Saint Jerome's. He kept to himself so no one would know the real Benton Johnny. He just focused on being the top student there. He had been. He did the same thing at Yale. He kept closed off and focused on his goals.
“But if the college student in front of me now had been waiting for me at Yale—“ his thoughts drifted off and he forced himself to focus on the moment.
She had set her knapsack by her chair. He recognized it as a Pendleton bag, with a Chief Joseph Indian blanket inset. Benton knew how much it cost. He had approved the order for some in the Casino gift shop a few days ago. So—not a poor Indian freshman the way he had been the day he had stepped on Yale's campus.
“Nice Pendleton,” Benton said, nodding his chin towards her pack. Courage was aware he looked at her with a certain curiosity—almost a hunger in his eyes. She wondered if he might be interested. But then she also wondered if he might be gay. That had never been mentioned in any of the articles or interviews she had read about him. There had been a single photo in USA Today of Benton Johnny on the arm of some starlet on the red carpet of an awards show. She hadn't paid that much attention to the woman. She just remembered how good he looked in a Hugo Boss tux. Other than that, she had never seen a photo of him with anyone. He was always shown alone.
With that thought, she glanced around. His efficient looking desk had no photographs of his family on it. On the walls hung several paintings, but none of the standard “boss” icons, such as framed degrees or photos of him posing with someone famous. The more she subtly took in the surroundings, the more she realized while it was beautiful, there was really nothing that told her very much about Benton Johhny.
“Thanks,” she grinned. “Right before I came to start this semester, I did some modeling for Pendleton, and they let me keep the knapsack. It’s their newest style—they just started shipping it out a couple of weeks ago.” He made her feel both comfortable and a little nervous. Was he impressed by her, or just by her snazzy knapsack? If he knew she had the hots for him, he might toss her out. He was probably used to women throwing themselves at him, thinking what a catch he was. And if Courage were honest with herself, she was really just reacting to a basic attraction she was feeling. She didn’t know him—other than through quotes and what other reporters had thought about him.
But this was Benton Johnny, one of the most recognizable American Indians in the nation. Her mom had joked he should replace the old guy on the nickel. Then it would be worth more. Courage felt she was just lucky to get the interview. Someone like him would never have an interest in some nobody like her from a little reservation in Idaho.
She told herself she had best make herself useful before the silence got awkward. She reached into her knapsack and pulled out a notepad. “Mind if I ask you some questions?” Courage tried her best to look official. She hoped she was pulling it off. What she really wanted to pull off was his shirt. She put the notepad on her lap because her Calvin Klein thong was getting damper.
Benton saw she had the braids he had cut off with his own hands that first night at St. Jerome’s. A part of him wondered what he would be if he had looked more like her when he was a freshman at Yale—someone obviously proud of his heritage. He could see how easily she would have gone into modeling. He had been approached a few times to model, but he worried it might just be a come on, and the “photographer” was just trying to pick him up for something other than a photo.
He would always shake his head and take off. All that mattered for him at that time was finishing his degree and being successful. He distanced himself from what he thought might hold him back. He tried to prove to non-Natives it didn’t matter that he was “just an Indian.” He didn’t return home until his mother’s funeral.
“Well, look at who came home,” his first cousin said to him. Evan was smoking a cigarette outside of the small house of Benton's mother. “Always figured you felt you were too good to bother coming back to the mudhole you crawled out of. We thought you might at least have come back to spend the summer after graduating from that fancy-assed boys’ school Aunt Miriam sent you to. What was it called? Saint Someshit?” Evan tossed the rest of his cigarette into the darkness and Benton watched it disappear like a tiny red comet. Evan turned his back on him and his cousin walked silently into the house.
This had set the pattern for the rest of his extended family's reaction to his return. Some were more friendly, but most kept their distance, treating him like a stranger. In his heart he felt he deserved it. He had decided to go to Yale on an early summer admissions program that would allow him to graduate more quickly. But it also meant it had been many years since he had returned. On the drive here, he passed the ramshackle reservation shacks most people lived in, little different from his mother's. He lost count of the wrecked cars that littered almost every single front yard. It was as if everywhere he looked he saw Poverty stamped in ugly red letters.
He had to go through her possessions, helping a few of the older women to determine what needed to be given away in the old ceremonial way. They explained a few of the heirloom items he could keep as his own, but they would need to be put away for a year before they could be used again. That would be the proper time for him to raise a headstone for his mother. They spoke to him as if he was a child, and it was obvious they didn't expect him to be there to perform the headstone ritual. They figured he'd disappear into the night like his cousin's cigarette butt.
In one of the boxes he had pulled down from the top shelf of his mother's closet he found that she had kept every single letter or card he had ever sent her, from his first week at the college prep school to the ones from Yale. He also saw what her reality was. As the years went by, the letters and cards became rarer and rarer. For his senior college year there had been no letters—those had stopped after his freshman year—and only two cards. One was for her birthday and the other for Mother's day.
What better proof than this box to provide the paper trail of what a poor son he had turned out to be. He had told himself when he never left campus in order to graduate early he was doing so to make her ultimately proud. He had never been drunk. He had never done any drugs, even pot. He would become successful and wealthy and she would be proud of him. Then he would return home in glory. A great plan. But she died before he could share that success with her.
He felt so guilty--He promised himself he’d make it up to her memory by finally moving back to the reservation. He'd work to make the reservation a better place to live. He'd create decent schools so kids would not have to leave to get a quality education the way he had done. After the first year he even grew his hair out. He invested much of his own money and completely revitalized the pathetic Casino the reservation had opened years ago. He was pleased with what he had accomplished. And every night he went home to an empty house and sat alone.
Chapter Two
Shauna tried to follow Courage's responses about her history with Benton, but it kept bringing up her own memories of her first encounter with Dr. Jacob Desmet. She had felt so alone. She remembered the fullness of his lips—the stern hazel eyes that always seemed to be judging her. His butterscotch colored hair was even straighter than hers and was always perfectly cut and combed with sharp precision. Shauna had been intimidated by him during their initial interview, but she had done her best to appear confident and strong.
“Why do you want this position, Ms. Andersen?” He had asked her. His accent was unfamiliar. Definitely European. Of course she had Googled him. She knew he was Belgian but that meant so little. Her only association with Belgium was luxury chocolate.
“I want the best training available,” she said, holding her voice steady. “That would be here.” She glanced around the office, elegant with simple lines. There were the required framed degrees and many awards in warm mahogany frames across an entire wall. Three large bookshelves took up the space of another wall. But Dr. Jacob Desmet dominated any room.
