Disciplining Little Abby

by Serafine Laveaux

  “Birds,” she snorted in disbelief. “Birds will tell you I’ve broke a rule? Right.”

  “Little birds,” he smiled slyly. “They tell me so many things. Feel free to test them if you doubt me, but don’t complain to me when they come home to roost. They flit here and there and always come back to me. It would be best if you never forgot them. Moving on. Once I’ve selected your daddy and he agrees to accept you, the two of you will enter a separate agreement at another meeting which will take place here later this week. As individuals vary, so do the agreements. While I can assure you it will require your complete obedience, I cannot be specific as to what that might entail at this time, nor the penalties for failing to behave.”

  Birds my ass. She pictured a flock of headset-wearing sparrows shadowing her every move and reporting back to base. “So, just to be a hundred percent clear, if I take one look at him and decide I don’t want anything to do with him?”

  “Then our association with one another is finished.”

  “Have you ever had anyone quit?” she asked.

  “Only once,” he assured her. “Of course, they came back later to cry and plead, but to no avail. I take great care in my selection, Miss Abby. I assure you I won’t pair you with anyone but the best, and I don’t intend to be run ragged by capricious whims of clients who dismiss my selections based on facial hair, or eye color, or some other insignificant nonsense.” The way he tucked the contract into his briefcase and snapped it shut told her their appointment had come to an end.

  “Now what?” she asked as he came around the desk and opened the door for her.

  “Now I need you to go knock on the first door you passed on the way to my office. My secretary is in there. She’ll get your information taken down. Contact numbers, address, any information required for the service to run our background checks. While she’s doing that, I’ll make a few calls and get busy finding the best match for you. Keep an eye on your inbox for your first and quite important email from him. By all means do as it says, or you’ll get off to a very unpleasant start,” he warned, waggling a finger as he returned to his seat on the other side of the desk. “In the meantime, go home and relax. Things are about to change!”

  Chapter Three

  Tension bordered on panic at work Thursday morning as everyone scrambled to wrap up last second changes and last minute editorials for the paper that would hit the stands in less than twenty-four hours. As usual, Abby was ahead of the game and had turned the last of her edits in the day before. Now she was able to relax and watch the chaos and panic around her. She’d been one of a handful of copy editors at the paper for going on ten years. Though she had no love for the dead-end job and the marginal pay that came with it, the likelihood of being fired was non-existent and the higher ups had long since accepted her idiosyncrasies. For the most part they ignored her, and though she recognized that being ignored would not lead to promotional opportunities, she was okay with that.

  It was her coworkers who started calling her Abby. Up until then she’d gone by Mal, the most tolerable variation of Mallory she could come up with. One night while watching JAG, a new forensics character appeared, a brilliant goth chick, with black hair and an infectious smile. Mal immediately developed a minor league crush on the quirky character, and when she resurfaced on NCIS, Mal became a devoted follower. The fact that Abby Sciuto had a farting stuffed hippo only cemented Mal’s idolization. It wasn’t long before she began copying the character’s style, and when one of the sports reporters took to calling her Abby, she accepted the new moniker with pride.

  She retrieved her blanket from the bottom desk drawer and snuggled it to her chest, inhaling the faint scent of Julia’s perfume as she watched the staff race about the office. It had been dark by the time the driver had delivered her to her parents’ house. Not wanting to go inside, she had stood beneath Julia’s windows and tossed pebbles at the glass until her little sister finally stuck her head out to see what was going on.

  “Oh my God, are you okay?” Julia had gasped in relief as she’d leaned out of the window and demanded a hug. “Mom was livid and Eva didn’t shut up about you for half an hour. Where did you go?”

  Abby told her about running to the skateboard park but kept the details of her appointment to herself. She begged Julia to go upstairs and get her stuff for her. “Look under the pillows!” she whispered as loudly as she dared, just before Julia ran off.

  When Julia reappeared at the window, she’d handed over the bag, the blanket, and Mr. Jingles. “I can’t believe you still have him!” she’d squealed as she held him out the window. “Remember when Dad snuck him out of the trash can? Abby, I’m sorry. Really, and so is Dad. You know how mom is when she gets worked up. She puts everything into these dinners, and if anything is off, she just loses her mind. And Eva, well, she’s not as mature as she likes to pretend. She’s just not as obvious with her button-pushing is all.”

  Abby had shrugged it off at the time, just happy to have her stuff back without further confrontation, but the words still hurt even five days later. Childish behavior. Your own failure. Even now her teeth ground at the echoes in her head.

  She’d also yet to receive the promised email and was beginning to think Mr. Green had decided not to work with her. Maybe it was all just some crazy joke, and now I’m the laughing stock of YouTube.

  “Abby Willis?”

  From across the room she heard her name called out in a deep voice she didn’t recognize. Answers of “in the back” called out in response, and a few moments later, the voice called her name once more. Setting her blanket aside, she stood up and spied a bouquet of balloons midway across the room, their handler hidden from view behind them.

  “Back here!” she hollered, giggling at the mass of balloons surging towards her, jostling and shoving their way through the scurrying staff until they came to a stop beside her desk. The hand clutching their tethers thrust out to her as the voice behind them repeated her name, a slight lilt at the end turning it into a question.

  “I’m Abby!” she squealed as she took the balloon bouquet and quickly tied it off to the corner of her cubicle, giggling and dancing from foot to foot with excitement. She’d always been envious of other girls at work who occasionally got flowers delivered, but the gaily colored collection now floating above her workspace outshone all the rest.

  Still laughing, she turned to the delivery boy to ask who had sent them. One look and her voice failed. He was tall and lean, with long, sandy-colored hair twisted in rough dreads and carelessly pulled back into a ponytail that fell to his shoulders, Abby could easily picture him on the cover of a surfer magazine, or perhaps on stage in front of a band. Ornate, colorful tattoos peeked beneath the edge of his sleeves, vivid and bright against the dark tan of his arms. Faded jeans slung low upon narrow hips, and he wore a nondescript t-shirt with a motorcycle shop logo across the front, but what caught her were his eyes. She’d never seen any quite like them, a wild mix of greens and blues like ocean waves, twinkling and full of life.

  “Is… is there a card?” she stammered. It had only been a second, but already she was held locked and hypnotized by his exotic eyes. Suddenly the stale air of the newspaper office seemed to shimmer before her, and the constant background noise of keyboards and cell phones and human activity faded into nothing. It was as if she’d turned around and found herself in a surreal, alternate world inhabited just by her and a surf god with a Mona Lisa smile and an envelope with her name on it. The blood began to boil as it rushed up into her neck and face, and she realized her fingers had grasped his hand instead of the envelope. A rush of embarrassment broke the spell at last, and she fumbled eagerly for the envelope, pretending her excitement was over it and not his broad shoulders and smoldering eyes.

  “I better read this,” she blurted out, pretending to study the note clutched in her trembling fingers. Not that she could read any of it; her eyes refused to release the vision of ocean eyes and sun-kissed skin. Even without looking
, she could feel his presence, magnetic and undeniable, and it was several moments before she was able to shift her focus to the words before her.

  Dear Abby,

  Hope the balloons brighten your world! We have an appointment for this evening. The driver will pick you up at six-thirty, so be ready. I’ve been ordered to provide you with a list of rules to obey in the meantime, so here you go.

  Don’t stress at work today.

  Enjoy your balloons for as long as you can.

  Be ready at six-thirty.

  Can’t wait to meet you!

  Chris A.

  Abby re-read the note three times, hoping to buy enough time for the flush in her face to subside before she risked another look at the delivery guy and knowing it wouldn’t be nearly enough. The sight of him had awakened something in her, and a few casual words on a piece of pink paper weren’t going to distract her body from what it wanted. It didn’t help that he didn’t seem in a hurry to leave either. She had to get rid of him—and quickly. There was already too much attention focused on her thanks to the balloons; she didn’t want the whole office tittering about how she practically flung herself on a random delivery guy.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I forgot your tip!” She reached for her purse only to be stopped by his warm, slightly calloused hand catching her wrist. The restraint was gentle but firm, like a velvet vise. Gasping audibly, she fell into his gaze once more, and immediately her chest felt tight, unable to take in even the slightest breath. Suddenly nothing else mattered, not the office around her or the appointment for that evening, nothing but the blue depths of his eyes and the throbbing pulse that began at his fingertips and snaked its way through her body to her increasingly wet core.

  “No,” he whispered softly. “No need. Your pleasure is payment enough.” His voice made her knees melt, but the hunger in his eyes was eating her alive. With a jolt, she realized she was having the same effect on him. Forget Mr. Green’s guy, I want him. Suddenly, she felt small and lost, unable to think. As if sensing her inner conflict, his eyes and hand released her. Stepping back, he gave her one last smile and then melted back into the office chaos.

  Just as well. Her body wanted nothing more than to run after him, but her mind told her it was for the best. He wouldn’t understand you any better than the others, not like the one you’re to meet tonight.

  Chris A. She let the name roll off her tongue a few times, testing it out, wondering what the ‘A’ stood for. Anderson? Allen? Adams? Images of a strong, steady man slightly older than her came to mind. A banker perhaps, or maybe a doctor. She suspected the cost of Mr. Green’s service would be prohibitive to all but the very wealthy. The idea was intimidating, but she supposed that was natural. Mr. Green didn’t promise to find her a boyfriend, but someone to nurture her. A daddy, she thought, and daddies weren’t supposed to send your heart into your throat or make your tummy do flip-flops. They were supposed to take care of you. Boyfriends came and went, but a daddy would always be there, and she could use a little security in her personal life.

  So why did she feel so disappointed at the prospect now?

  Trying to imagine what he would be like helped the rest of the afternoon pass by quickly. Abby felt coiled and poised to spring the entire last hour, eager to escape her office and the balloons that came from one man but only reminded her of another. The five o’clock buzzer sent her into a sprint all the way to her car, and she raced home in a reckless rush, blowing two red lights and nearly sideswiping a cyclist before finally arriving home. She showered quickly and blow-dried her hair as fast as she could, then carefully pulled it up into ponytails high on either side of her head, with her bangs straight in the front and falling just below the bottom of her eyebrows.

  She decided on her favorite t-shirt, a well-worn black one with a purple and white graphic for The Cure across the front, and a ruffled skirt she’d splurged on but hadn’t had a chance to wear yet. It was black lace and ruffles across purple satin, with black ribbon crisscrossing over it and connected by silver metal rings. The outfit was too outrageous for work and too brave for family dinners, even on her most defiant days, but something told her it was perfect for tonight’s appointment. Black tights and a pair of black and purple skate shoes finished off the look.

  Abby studied herself in the mirror, pleased with what she saw. She’d avoided the sun her whole life, and it had kept her face looking eternally young. Dressed as she was, she could have easily passed for eighteen, younger even if the lights were right. She was lost in the mirror when her cell phone chirped, causing her to jump. It was the driver, ready whenever she was.

  “This is it, Abby,” she told the sassy Lolita staring back at her in the mirror. “Time to walk on the wild side.”

  The ride seemed much faster than the first time. Abby was still trying to convince herself it wasn’t all a crazy, very bad idea when the driver opened her door and held out a hand.

  “This is still nuts,” she told him as she stepped out. “Maybe not murder palace like I first thought, but it’s definitely nuts.”

  “I hear that a lot,” he chuckled. “Relax, Abby. Just remember, you can always say no and no one will be mad at you for it. But,” he added as he opened the building’s front door, “I promise you’ll be glad if you say yes.”

  I can always say no. The reassurance settled her nerves considerably as she walked silently down the empty hall to the third door. Standing before it, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, one hand fiddling with the ribbons on her flouncy skirt as she screwed up the courage to go inside. I can always say no.

  Mr. Green was seated in his usual spot when she stepped inside, but now there were two chairs where before there’d been one. The one on the right was empty, waiting for her arrival. On the left with his back to her was what she assumed must be the mysterious Mr. Chris A. My new daddy. Her breath caught when she saw the dreads pulled back to a loose ponytail that fell just to his shoulders and ocean blue eyes that turned to greet her with a knowing twinkle.

  “Yes, you’ve met,” Mr. Green quipped, his voice betraying annoyance as he glared across his desk at the tanned, tattooed man staring intently at her. “Highly irregular, and I apologize profusely Miss Willis. I assure you I did not provide Mr. Antonopoulos with your work address. We prefer our clients meet for the first time on neutral ground, preferably in my office.”

  “Sorry,” Chris apologized, but his bemused expression told her he wasn’t sorry a bit. “He didn’t tell me where you worked, but there’s only so many newspapers in town. Wasn’t hard to find out which one had a girl that matched your description.” His smile was boyish and completely disarming but did little to ease the overwhelming nervousness she felt. “What can I say? I wanted to see how you were when you were somewhere you felt comfortable.” Glancing back towards Mr. Green, he went on. “I don’t regret it either. You should have seen her face light up when she saw the balloons.”

  “They were beautiful,” she whispered shyly as she slipped into the remaining chair. Antonopoulos. So much for Anderson. “I really loved them.”

  “Wonderful,” Mr. Green interrupted, clearly exasperated with the both of them. Abby suspected he wasn’t accustomed to having his prospective daddies being the ones to break his rules and now that it had happened, he was none too pleased. “Well, you’ve completely upset the apple cart. You were instructed to provide her with a list of rules in order to see how she would react and gain further insight into what her nature is. Instead, you told her to not stress at work, enjoy her balloons, and be ready at—”

  To her surprise, Chris interrupted him. “Come on, Abby, let’s go talk somewhere private,” he said, taking her small hand in his and quietly leading her out of the office.

  * * *

  Mr. Green sighed and threw his hands up in resignation. He’d had reservations about the pairing, but his choices had been limited thanks to Abby’s unique nature. She was more headstrong teenager than sweet, submissive child, and her obviously defia
nt, rebellious nature hadn’t sat well with his first choices. At her initial meeting, he’d pegged her for a little, but after reviewing her files, it was clear the label didn’t entirely fit. Her short fuse and poor impulse control certainly did, but her strong personality and independent streak was too intimidating for clients seeking more malleable babygirls. There was no shortage of clients willing and able to take her on, but when he broached the subject of age play, they all politely declined.

  Mr. Antonopoulos had proved equally challenging. He brought prior experience to the table, but Mr. Green felt he was too reckless and unstructured to prove a good match for the majority of his clients. Rules were mere suggestions to him, and Mr. Green had been unable to make him understand that without rules and structure, it was unlikely any pairing would be a success. Where Abby was concerned, it would likely be a disaster. Mr. Green could easily see her exploiting every angle, every loophole, just for the thrill of pushing buttons.

  In the end, he’d reluctantly gone to his superior for advice. He’d wanted nothing more than to inform Miss Willis that he would be unable to find a suitable match for her, but the organization frowned upon such actions. Barring a criminal history or evidence of mental illness, turning away potential clients required approval from his superior.

  He’d first seen Keiko Yamakazi at a private club, sitting cross-legged on the floor, with her hair in ponytails and her hands full of crayons. The sight of her knocked the air from his lungs, and he’d homed in on her like a lion to a fawn. When she’d turned her bright almond eyes up to his, he’d been lost. She was everything he’d been searching for: beautiful, sweet, and utterly innocent, and he was so wrapped up in their time together that he never thought to ask about her outside life. One day he came home to find her waiting for him in a no-nonsense, grey pinstriped skirt and jacket with black stilettos. It was then he learned about Spectrum International and that his sweet Keiko was a district coordinator. The revelation had been bittersweet for him. She’d recruited him to take over the Dallas location, an exciting opportunity he’d eagerly agreed to, but their relationship forever changed. They still had their playtime, but only when she was in the region, and only if she had time.