by Megan Hart
I tried not to be excited that he'd been waiting for my
answer.
Something with elves and fairies. My eyes are bleeding.
You're with Arty?
I loved that Austin didn't abbreviate his texts. Yes. What
are you doing?
Thinking about you.
Something briliantly colored and loud happened onscreen,
but I couldn't blame the sudden thunder of my pulse on
that. I glanced at Arty, his mouth ful of popcorn, his entire
attention taken up by what was going on. I looked again at
the phone. My fingers stroked the keys, but I didn't type
anything. I didn't want this to keep going.
Or maybe I did.
Or maybe I did.
What are you thinking about me?
"Paige," Arty whispered. "I have to go to the bathroom!"
"Now? Can't you wait five minutes? The movie's almost
over." I looked at the jumbo-size drink in his cup holder. It
had been the smalest size and stil contained enough soda
to float a boat. "Never mind. C'mon."
Arty squirmed. "No, no, I want to wait."
"Dude, you'l pee yourself."
The woman in front of us gave an annoyed glance over her
shoulder. Since her own three kids had been bouncing out
of their seats and talking over the entire movie, I wasn't
realy sure where she got off with the bitchface, but I
ignored her to focus on my brother.
"No, I want to wait," he insisted, eyes glued to the screen.
With a sigh, I watched him squirm. He was totaly going to
wet himself, but I remembered what it was like to miss the
best parts of a movie because of a teeny bladder. Not that
this movie seemed to have any best parts.
this movie seemed to have any best parts.
My phone vibrated again, earning me another look from
Mrs. Grumpy in front of me when I opened it to see
another text from Austin.
I'm thinking about how good your hair always smels.
Once I'd stuck a bobby pin in an electrical socket. What
can I say? I was young and dumb and it had seemed like a
good idea at the time. Much like this text-message
flirtation. Austin's message shot the same frigid-inferno
tingle up and down my body, and I saved myself from
gasping aloud only by biting my tongue.
I was saved from myself by the movie ending. Thanking
God it wasn't one to have outtakes and jokes scattered
throughout the final credits, I hustled Arty to the bathroom
where he peed forever as he chattered about the movie.
The weight of my phone in my pocket distracted me so
much I forgot to make him wash his hands, a fact I
remembered too late when he grabbed mine on the way to
the parking lot.
"Paige, you're the best sister, ever. I love you!"
"Love you too, squirt." I ruffled his hair and helped him
into his seat belt.
My phone remained silent, and so did I. Arty talked
enough for both of us al the way home. By the time I
puled up in front of my mom's house, he'd relayed the
entire movie to me, including dialogue, and I marveled at
how he could repeat word for word eight minutes' worth
of dialogue but was unable to remember his telephone
number.
"Inside and get ready for bed," I told him on the front
porch. "No fussing."
"Okay." He was off the moment he got in the door, up the
stairs before my mom even made it out of the kitchen.
"He's sufficiently caffeinated now," I told her. "To go along with the sugar."
"Great." My mom's laugh sounded forced.
From my pocket, my phone buzzed.
Her eyebrows lifted when I didn't reach to answer it. "So
I'm not the only one you ignore?"
I'm not the only one you ignore?"
I remembered then I was supposed to be angry with her
about something. "It's Austin."
She didn't even try to hide the pleasure on her face. She
puled a pan of brownies from the oven and settled them
on top of the stove, then slapped the hot pads on the
counter. "I'm not surprised. You were crazy about that
boy for so long—"
" Crazy being the operative word."
She turned to face me. "I said I'm sorry, al right?"
I eyed the brownies, then her. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. Why would anything be wrong?" She
rummaged in the fridge to pul out a bowl of what looked
like fudge icing.
"Because you bake when you're upset."
She held out the bowl to me. "Taste this. Is it too sweet?"
"I don't want to taste that, Mom."
"Trying to watch your figure?" She ran a finger around the edge and tasted, then grimaced. "Is this too sweet? I think
it's too sweet."
"What's wrong?" I asked more quietly this time, and this
time, she put down the bowl to answer me.
"Leo moved out."
My mom had been with countless men during my lifetime.
Some had been boyfriends. Some had been dates. Only a
few had been live-ins, and out of al of them, Leo had
lasted the longest. I didn't expect to be so surprised he'd
gone.
"Why?"
"I asked him to." My mom waved a hand as she dug in the
drawer for a rubber spreader.
Above us, the floor creaked as Arty ran around. I looked
upward and said, "I'l go."
"Thanks, hon."
Upstairs, I wrangled my brother into the bathroom to
Upstairs, I wrangled my brother into the bathroom to
brush his teeth, then into bed. I tucked him in tight and
gave him half a dozen hugs and just as many kisses. I held
him close. Now he smeled like popcorn and little-boy
sweat, not candy.
"Go to sleep, monster."
He protested, yawning, that he wasn't tired, but his eyes
were already closing as I ducked out the door. I stood in
the hal for a few minutes, my own eyes closed. I'd never
lived in this house, but it smeled the same as al the places
I'd ever lived with my mom. Dust and chocolate brownies
and, fainter, below it al, the subtle odor of never-quite-
good-enough.
Downstairs, my phone vibrated again in my pocket. I
clapped a hand over it to stifle the buzz, which sounded
like a fly in a bottle. My mom had iced the brownies and
wrapped up half the pan in aluminum foil for me to take
along. She didn't mention the phone cal, and I didn't try to
refuse the food.
She hugged me on the way out the front door, her grip
fiercer than usual. "Drive carefuly, sweet girl."
My retort to that had been, "No, Mom, I plan on driving
recklessly," but tonight I kept those words inside. I hugged
her back as hard as she hugged me. She didn't have to be
crying for me to know she was upset about Leo. The
brownies had told me that.
"I'l cal you tomorrow, okay?" I said into her hair, which
smeled as always of Apple Pectin Shampoo.
She nodded. When she stepped away her eyes were
bright but she smiled. "Sure, honey. Good night."
She stood silhouetted in the doorway until I drove away.
By the time I reached the rail
road tracks the light on the
front porch had gone out. My car bump-bumped over the
rails, taking me away from the house that hadn't ever been
home.
My phone buzzed again as I puled into the parking lot of
the Manor. I flipped it open to read al three messages. Al
from Austin.
How was the movie?
Say hi to your mom for me.
I had to laugh at that. Oh, that bastard. He knew my mom
had always loved him. More than his had ever cared for
me.
And finaly, Cal me when you get home.
Chapter 14
I didn't cal Austin when I got home. I didn't cal him the
next day, or the day after that, and though I tensed every
time my phone rang, eventualy I stopped worrying. He
didn't cal me, either.
The notes arrived every few days but never on a day when
I might expect one. Only on the days I was convinced I'd
be left without instructions, a list, a command. I read each
and every one, committing them to memory before tucking
them into the slot of 114, a mailbox that had become so
familiar to me it was like stroking a lover.
You've done wel. Treat yourself to your favorite dessert.
That had been a piece of key lime pie so decadent and
rich I'd made sex noises while eating it.
You didn't return your essay in time. Clearly, discipline
means nothing to you. Don't waste my time again.
A fit body deserves appropriate clothes. Purchase yourself
an appropriate new outfit. Don't skimp on it.
A simple suit, navy blue to match my eyes but with a crisp
stripe of summer green at the hem and on the buttons of
the jacket. It was the first outfit I'd ever bought I also had
altered to fit just right. Wearing it, I felt more than
professional, I felt appropriate.
Go to the bookstore. Look at the aisle you don't normaly
browse. Find a book that looks good and buy it. Read it.
Enjoy it.
I'd picked a book on the history of movies, trivia mostly,
but also photos of stars from days past. I'd savored the
glamour and taken to wearing my hair parted and over one
eye like Lana Turner.
For days the notes had arrived in my mailbox, teling me
what to eat, what to wear, what time to go to bed and
what time to rise. I was a rat folowing a piper unseen,
maybe to the cheese nirvana, maybe to a watery grave in a
river. I couldn't tel.
I only knew that I didn't want it to stop.
I want you to be bare for me today, beneath those clothes
you bought. I want you to feel the coarseness of denim,
the roughness of wool, the sleekness of satin lining, on
the roughness of wool, the sleekness of satin lining, on
your bare ass. Every time you move, you're going to think
of me and how I own you.
Voices echoed in the lobby and the elevator dinged, but
nobody came down the hal to catch me, a thief, taking
what I hadn't meant to steal. I pushed the card through the
slot and bent to make sure it had gone al the way through.
It would be gone when I came home, gone and read by
the person for whom it had been meant.
Did she glory in them as much as I?
Did she deserve them, the smal rewards of treating herself
to a hot bath, a piece of gourmet chocolate, for completing
the tasks? Did she force herself to another hour in the gym
as punishment when she failed to folow the list exactly?
Or was it only me who looked forward to each day's
commands?
Paul had left me another list. Along with the standard
"copy the files" and "schedule the appointments" he'd added something interesting. Lunch. He'd underlined it
twice. Like I wouldn't remember to eat?
Order from China King for delivery.
He'd added what I should order and in what amount, and
what time I should place the cal to ensure the food would
arrive by the time he and his client returned. As if I couldn't
figure al that out for myself.
Order enough for yourself, he'd added. At least he was
being generous.
I tried to put the morning's note from my mind, but my
thoughts were focused more on the fact I was bare
beneath my skirt than anything Paul was having me do. His
list was longer this time, more detailed, and while I
enjoyed the new responsibilities and projects he'd left for
me, I hadn't finished by the time the food came. I'd only
just managed to colect it from the front desk downstairs
and set it out on the smal conference table in Paul's office
when he and the woman from marketing showed up.
Vivian Darcy. I'd seen her before, a tal woman with blond
hair she wore in a sleek twist. She wasn't thin but dressed
like she was and managed to carry it off. Her shoes cost
more than my rent.
I had my own lunch, chicken and broccoli, to eat at my
desk. Paul gave me little more than a glance and closed his
door. I heard them laughing behind it. They were in there
for a long time. When the door opened again, I'd finished
eating and set back to work on the filing I hadn't managed
to finish before lunch.
"Paige, bring me the advance proof packet," Paul said
from the doorway. He'd loosened his tie and taken off his
jacket and roled up his sleeves. From behind him I heard
the flush of water running in his private bathroom.
I nodded as he disappeared into his office, but a moment
later my stomach sunk. I hadn't actualy finished copying
the packet. I'd known I needed to do it, it was part of my
regular weekly projects, but it hadn't been on Paul's list. I
also didn't want to admit I'd been distracted.
"Paul?"
They both looked up. She had puled her chair close to
his, their heads bent over what looked like a spreadsheet.
She'd taken off her suit jacket, too, and her breasts
pushed at the front of her silk shirt.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I haven't finished with the copies of that packet. It wil take me about fifteen minutes, but I'l do
that packet. It wil take me about fifteen minutes, but I'l do
it right now."
I'd been made to feel smal before, but I hadn't expected
the look both of them gave me. Different looks, neither
pleasant. Hers was cutting, an arch of brow to indicate
surprise but not too much, as though she'd expected as
much from the likes of me. Hers I could deal with.
Paul, on the other hand, looked blank for the span of some
long seconds. Then he looked disappointed. "We need
that packet now, Paige."
He didn't need to tel me I'd screwed up. I'd have liked it
better if he had. I could have been angry, then, at being
scolded. Instead, al I could feel was the vast wash of guilt
for knowing I hadn't done what I was supposed to do.
"Ten minutes," I promised.
"No need to jump through hoops," Paul said. "Just get it done."
I did it in seven minutes, though it meant cheating and
taking up al three copy machines at the same time. When I
handed the packets,
properly colated and stapled, one
handed the packets, properly colated and stapled, one
each to her and him, I didn't expect a reward.
I didn't get one. Not even a smile. Not even a terse thank-
you. Both of them took the papers and bent back to their
work without more than a glance at me, and I slunk out of
Paul's office in disgrace.
My mood only lasted another ten minutes. I worked for a
paycheck, not approval, and I'd never given him a reason
to have any complaint about my work, not even in the first
few weeks when I hadn't known what I was doing.
"Paige, can I see you for a minute?" Paul said when Vivian left, finaly, at a quarter to five.
"Sure. Of course."
He stepped aside to let me into his office and gestured at
the chair that had been returned to the front of his desk. I
sat. Paul sat, too, and looked across the desk at me with
his hands folded together.
"I wanted to make sure you were doing al right."
This wasn't what I'd expected. "I'm fine, thanks."
"The job's not overwhelming you?"
I had a bad feeling about where this was going. "No…."
"Good." Paul looked down at his hands, now clasped
tightly. "Because I'd hate to think you were unable to keep
up with the position, Paige."
One mistake in six months, and he was worried I couldn't
keep up? I wanted to stand up and walk out, flipping Paul
the bird. I might have, had he sounded sarcastic or
condescending. He didn't. He sounded…cautious.
"I'm sorry I forgot the packet, Paul. It won't happen
again." I knew it wouldn't. I might forget a dozen other
tasks, but I wouldn't ever forget to copy the fucking proof
packet again.
He stil didn't look at me. His voice quiet but not soft, he
said, "I hope you won't."
That was it. He nodded at me and I got up, and I went out
to my desk to shut it down for the night. My fingers had
gone cold and stiff and I mistyped the password I needed
to log out three times before I got it right.
You wil masturbate in the shower, but you wil not alow
yourself to come. Your orgasm is a reward for good
behavior, and you haven't earned it. You wil write, on
your best paper and with your best ink, how you
masturbated and how it felt when you stopped, and you
wil return it to me no later than tomorrow afternoon.
Disobedience wil not be tolerated.
You said you wanted discipline.
With shaking fingers and hot cheeks I passed the
mailboxes without looking to see if the note I'd shoved into
