Graduation approached, and Sugar interviewed for a job in Rome in the administration offices of American Airlines. She needed to get out of a country that frequently angered and disappointed her. Racism was rampant in the United States, albeit in subtle ways. A glance here, a shake of the head there: it all angered Sugar Lane. She had studied Italian for two ears at B. U., and it had come easily to her. She loved Italian culture, and she was ready to go.
While a student, she had studied and was now perfecting her Dominatrix role. Planning to continue her business in Italy, she thought what a delicious irony it was that she was getting paid $200 an hour to beat white people. Though she wasn’t that introspective, Sugar couldn’t help connect the payback aspect of her new business. Her father would get a kick out of all this had he been alive.
In Rome, she took an apartment in the Trastevere section of the city, bought a small Fiat, and committed to driving the 36 kilometers every day to her office at Fiumincino Airport. She stocked up on her S&M gear, including restraints, masks, handcuffs, and straight jackets. She was ready for Italy. Was the reverse true?
Ronald Milken was working hard at his job at the American Embassy in Rome. He had a lovely apartment off Via Veneto, he loved Italian food, and he was enthralled by the Villa Borghese Museum just blocks away. He was a happy man, as was his wife, who couldn’t believe that she was living in Rome.
There was only one problem. When Milken worked hard, he became stressed, and that is when he needed relief from a Dominatrix. He knew finding a person he could work with within Rome would be complicated. But it turned out to be much easier than he thought.
At an embassy party, he saw a striking, tall, black woman across the room. He was curious who she was. How could he not be? “Can I get you a glass of Prosecco?” he asked. “Sure. Thanks. I’m Tami Lane from Boston. I work at American Airlines,” She said. They talked about sports and colleges for thirty minutes. She was an odd woman, thought Milken. She was guarded, but he felt he could trust her.
After the second glass of Prosecco, Milken remembered he knew Lane from somewhere. But where? Then it hit him! Sugar, Sugar, Sugar. He had seen her picture in an S&M Magazine, and she had had a mask on, but Milken was sure it was her. Before she left the party, Milken became bold:
It was nice meeting you. I recognize you from one of your pictures, and I would like to use your services if you are practicing in Rome. Of course, I need and practice the utmost discretion.
Sugar gave him a card and said, “Call me.”
(to be continued)
E così inizia...Sugars Rome Adventures!