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woman?”
    Yes, actually. I could.
    I nodded my head to concede the point. Leticia was a good journalist. She had clearly done a lot of research. I trusted her instincts because I had to. More than anything else it was important that she select and approve of the woman I would train. Her peace of mind required it.
    I read through the woman’s email message carefully, grunting occasionally as words or phrases seemed to leap off the page. This was much more than a message from a fan. I read down to the bottom of the message.
    “Cameron Wylde?”
    Leticia nodded.
    I frowned. “That’s her real name?”
    “Yes,” Leticia confirmed. “But her friends call her Cam, or Cammy.”
    I looked again at the photo Leticia had found, trying to match the name with the photo. “Where does she live?”
    “Chicago.”
    I nodded slowly then got out of the chair. There was a window on the far side of the room with a view across the property’s back lawns. I stared out at the morning, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face.
    “Did you… say anything to her about what you had in mind?” I asked the question delicately, like I was probing a tender wound.
    “No,” Leticia shook her head. “I thought that might be best left to you. I think you should phone her.”
     
    * * *
     
    Tact and patience are not words I am terribly familiar with. I understand the concepts, but lack the delicacy needed for drawn-out negotiation. This doesn’t bother me. It’s in my nature to get straight to the point when I talk to people.
    I picked up the phone and Leticia began to recite the numbers. Suddenly she seemed to realize that it would be me making the phone call. She clutched at my arm urgently so that I stopped dialing.
    “What are you going to say?” she was suddenly red-faced and flustered with panic.
    “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’ll work that out when I start talking to her.” I dialed the next number and then flashed Leticia a bemused smile. “I think I’ll just be my normal self.”
    “Oh, God no, Jonah!” she seemed to recoil in abject horror. “This isn’t just any old phone call. You’ve never spoken to this woman before. She’s not even expecting you to call her,” Leticia’s voice of protest rose and began to tremble. “Can’t you be… different… more, um, delicate?”
    I set down the phone and sighed, made my face into an expression of admonishment. “Leticia, there is no point sugar-coating our intentions with this woman. We want her to join us, and to surrender to me for sexual submissive training while you watch each encounter. Right?”
    Leticia nodded like she no longer trusted her voice.
    I shrugged. “Then why try to mislead her, or bother to soften the reality of what we are asking? Do you want the woman to fly here all the way from Chicago without being crystal clear on what it is we expect from her?”
    Leticia wrung her hands. I could see the tortured confusion in her eyes. She took a deep despairing breath and re-read the numbers, her voice now echoing the doom of her despondency.
    I waited for the line to connect. Leticia was watching my face, trying to read my expression. At last I heard the soft sound of a woman’s voice on the line and I nodded to Leticia.
    “Hello, Cameron? This is Jason Luke calling you.”
    There was a long moment of stunned silence from the woman at the other end of the phone call. The torture of the call suddenly proved too much for Leticia. She scurried from the room as though the phone was a bomb about to explode.
    “Are you serious?” the woman asked, and by the tone of her voice I was sure she suspected a prank.
    “Yes,” I answered. “I am serious. I’m Jason Luke, the author. I wanted to phone you and thank you personally for your recent email of support.”
    More stunned silence. I heard muffled noises that sounded like gasps of panic before her voice became warm and friendly.
    “Hi,” she said brightly.
    “Do you prefer me to call you Cameron, or