by JA Huss
I’m not a stammerer. I don’t stammer. Or at least I didn’t before about half a second ago. I start to work out my reply when a woman walks in and comes over to where we stand.
“Myrtle?” she says.
“Oh, hi, Pearl.”
Pearl?
“Sorry I’m late,” the person apparently named Pearl says.
“No problem,” says Myrtle. “I just wanted to make sure we go over everything in detail. Make sure it’s all fine by community standards.”
“Well, as I said, it is the TDH. What’s standard elsewhere doesn’t really apply here, but happy to go over everything. I love this place. Oh, hi, Gabrielle!” she says to Colette, who happens to be passing by.
“What are you going over in detail?” I ask. “Who’s this?”
“Hi,” Pearl says, extending her hand. “I’m Pearl.”
“Pearl. I’m—” I stick out my hand in return, but Myrtle interrupts our shake.
“Are you hungry, Pearl? I’m starving.”
And at that, she whisks Pearl away toward a booth in the back.
As I watch them walk away, I think about what Andrew said to me. That I need to make a profound apology. That I need to, somehow, prostrate myself.
I’ve never done that in my life. I’ve been taught, trained, and conditioned not to. Which is three ways of saying the same thing, but the point is that it’s been drilled into me to never bow. I don’t know if I even know how to.
I wish I did. Because it’s Myrtle. And for Myrtle, I’d—
“Monsieur Chevalier? Will you be returning to your table?” an approaching busboy asks.
I glance at where Myrtle and… what’s her name… are taking a seat. My table faces them directly. I could sit there and stare at them. Or stare at her. I could try to get her to pay attention to me. Not because I need the attention, but because… because… because…
“Monsieur? Your table? Will you be returning to finish your meal?”
“No, no. I think I’m done.”
CHAPTER FIVE - MYRTLE
“By the way, I haven’t told you yet, but I love your name.”
“Oh.” I smile at Pearl. “Well, thank you. Yours is exquisite as well.”
“When I was a kid I hated my name. It was so awful. People called me Grandma all the time. I suppose you got that too.”
“I’m sorry? What?”
“People, you know. Making fun of your stuffy name?”
I pause, honestly considering this. “No. Never. I didn’t have friends. Or enemies, for that matter. I grew up in a Quaker boarding school in Pennsylvania. Just outside Philadelphia. My mother was the school librarian.”
“Of course she was,” Pearl laughs. “That makes total sense.”
“Does it?” I ask.
“Yes, well, you have a… librarian thing going on, right?”
I look down at my sheer lace blouse. “This doesn’t say ‘librarian’.”
“No,” Pearl says. “It’s not your clothes. Well, it kinda is. It’s your hair, maybe. The bun.”
I pat my head. “It’s a French twist.”
“Right,” Pearl says. “Sorry, of course it is. But the pencil skirts—”
“Not librarian. My mother never wore a pencil skirt.”
“No, you’re right. I’m trying to tell you that you’re… you know. Sexy. In that sexy-librarian-slash-secretary way.”
I raise my chin and then give her one nod. “OK. I’ll accept that.”
And then she winks and says, “Dominatrix way too.”
“Exactly,” I say, smiling. “That is the look I’m going for, so I’m very happy you picked up on it.”
“Myrtle, everyone is picking up on it. You’re going to rock this class so hard, the whole TDH will think we’re having an earthquake. By the way, who was that man you were talking to? One of your subs?” She winks at me.
“Not yet,” I say, glancing over where Pierce was standing. “But he will be.”
Pearl snickers.
“He’s my boss.”
“What?”
“Yes. And he owes me. So he’s decided to take my class. In fact,” I say, pulling my brilliant revenge plan into something more coherent. Something more diabolical. I like Pearl. I could get used to her being around. And I’m OK with community center classes too. But only as a vehicle to deliver my revenge on Pierce.
That thought is so delicious, I almost snicker.
“He’s my beta tester,” I continue. “I need to test this whole class thing out first, Pearl. To make sure the Hubs for Subs understand what they’re getting into when they enter the lifestyle.”
“Oh, my God. You just gave me chills. You’re the real deal, aren’t you? I mean, the woman teaching Subs for Hubs seems to know her stuff, but you, Myrtle. You have expert stamped all over you.”
“Thank you again. But as I’ve already stated, I’m not allowed to discuss my qualifications due to legal restrictions.”
“Right, right, right,” she says. “No problem. But… OK. Beta testing?”
“Yes,” I say. I can see she is not pleased with this, but I’m really not into teaching a class on how to be a dominatrix. I just want to make Pierce uncomfortable. Oh, hell. Who am I kidding? I want to humiliate him the way he humiliated me. And he can’t even bitch about it because it’ll be private. The exact opposite of what I experienced. “You see, Pearl, the BDSM lifestyle is serious business. I’ve got a few techniques I need to test before I can unleash them out into the world. It’s the responsible thing to do.”
“Mmmm-hmmm,” she says, tight-lipped. “I get that. I do. And of course, if you say you need it, then we must. But…” She taps her tablet and holds it up. “Let’s set the class up now. Get it all on the books.”
“Do you get a bonus for this?”
“What?”
“Well, you were standing outside in the cold this morning soliciting people to teach. And you did spam me. Is there like… a bonus for signing people up?”
Pearl deflates a little. “It’s that obvious?”
“Well, something is obvious. I don’t know the details. The bonus was just a guess.”
“Listen,” she says, leaning over the table. “I shouldn’t be talking about this, but the people who own the community center don’t think it’s cost-effective.”
“It’s a community center,” I deadpan. “It’s not supposed to make a profit.”
“Right? I know! But… the land.”
“Oh,” I say. “I get it. They want to turn it into condos, right?”
“Worse,” she says. And now she’s frowning severely. “They’ve already turned part of it into election headquarters for Chad Walter and if he wins… well, the entire TDH will lose.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You haven’t heard? The TDH wants to split off and become its own city. Chad Walter’s family actually owns the community center land. Now he’s running for mayor and if he wins there’s gonna be a special election in December to section off the TDH into a new electoral district and then his family is going to sell the community center to the new city and turn it into city hall.”
“Huh,” I say. “And you think… BDSM classes will save it?”
Pearl sighs. “I know it’s stupid. But there’s a ton of land over on the south end of the TDH. Why can’t they put the stinkin’ city hall down there?”
“True,” I say. “They could do that.”
But why bother when you already have this place in the perfect location?
“Please, Myrtle? I need your help.”
God, am I really going get roped into this? All I want is simple, satisfying revenge. I don’t want to teach a real class, for fuck’s sake. So I say, “Well, I mean… I don’t think the whole sexy community center thing will save it, Pearl.”
“It could,” she insists. “It could. The Subs for Hubs is so popular, Myrtle. You don’t understand. It really could turn it around. These husbands are pretty excited about their wives we
aring collars.”
I roll my eyes. That makes me want to gag. “Well, those men won’t be interested in my class. It’s two different things.”
“I get it,” Pearl says. “But they will be interested in you, Myrtle. You’re… you’re… fascinating. You really could save the community center.”
Jesus Christ. What have I gotten myself into?
I walk to the parking garage after dinner with Pearl and think about Pierce the whole time. God, he infuriates me. And he used to be so fun. I really did love running his life. And maybe Eden was right. Part of my problem is that I miss being his assistant?
I certainly did a better job than Valerie is doing.
And I was kind of the boss. Everyone had to get through me to get to him. And he liked it. He did. He liked me.
Didn’t he?
I sigh as I get into my Tesla, then make my way down the garage ramp and out into the crisp Colorado night. I live about fifteen minutes east of TDH on a sixty-acre plot of land. It was actually my father’s house before he moved up north to be closer to work.
Even though I grew up with the boarding-school Quakers in Pennsylvania with my mother, Colorado was where I spent my vacations as a child. My father has always lived here. He met my mother when she was in college, but it was one of those whirlwind romances with lots of sex, an unplanned pregnancy, and no commitments once it was over.
My father was not going to give up his job to settle down back East and my mother was never going to travel with him for his work.
So she moved home, got a job at the school, and just kind of settled into being a spinster.
My father was way too wild at heart to be contained like that. So… they went their separate ways. Amicably, I suppose. I never heard them fight. She never complained that the child support was late. I always had a plane ticket waiting for me when it was time for a school break.
I lived a double life. During the school year I was shy, skinny Myrtle with the librarian mother. But during breaks I was… wild. Just like my father.
And it occurs to me now that no one from work knows who I am. Not even Pierce. And I didn’t even plan it that way. I have just always lived a double life. It’s just part of me now.
There’s a gate at the end of my driveway and the twelve-foot wrought-iron fence that surrounds the property is imposing. I greet Samantha with a wave as I pull up to the security station, and wait for her to let me in.
She waves back through the window, then points at her book. Smiling and nodding enthusiastically.
It’s the last Scarlett Savannah novel I read. She borrows them when I’m done. Some people might wonder why I let my security people read while they’re on duty, but… the gate isn’t here to keep people out. It’s to keep things in.
I smile back, feeling satisfied that she and I share a love for dirty books, and ease forward down the long, winding driveway to the house.
The road goes on past the house, but I know everything down that way has been buttoned up tight for the night. And it’s late, so I don’t go down to check on things or hang out with the on-site employees, I just pull my car into the garage, get out, plug it in, and go inside.
The growling from the corner of the dark kitchen is expected. I should’ve been home hours ago, but dinner with Pearl kept me longer than I thought it would.
And when I flick on the kitchen light Dave hurls himself at me, teeth bared, ears back.
I catch him in my arms and he immediately begins to purr like a kitten.
Which makes me laugh. Because kitten he is not.
Meanwhile, Betty, Dave’s better half, is rubbing up against my legs, getting hair all over my stockings.
“I’m not that late,” I protest. They mew and growl back at me, disagreeing. “Dinner’s coming.”
But I’m still distracted by Pierce and my new revenge scheme. Could I really entice him to be my sub?
I laugh under my breath as I get the chicken out of the fridge and start preparing it for Betty and Dave. They sit at my feet swishing their tails, trying their best to be patient. A few minutes later I put their dishes on the floor, pet them both on the head as they eat, and then make my way to the back of the house to change.
But I stop at the basement stairs. Hesitating. I haven’t really been down there since I moved in a few years ago. Never even unpacked the boxes.
I sigh again. How did I get roped into this?
You didn’t really say yes yet, the inner monologue starts.
But I didn’t say no, either. In fact, I nodded my head the whole time Pearl was going over what I’d need to get started.
And it would be the perfect way to get back at him.
You could just let him off the hook, inner monologue continues.
“Yeah, right,” I huff. And then the door to the basement is open and I’m going down to check things out.
Because I am Myrtle Rothschild.
And I made a pact with myself the minute I stepped out of that stupid Quaker school when I was seventeen and started a new life at the University of Denver.
No one gets to humiliate me in front of the entire world ever again.
I flick on the light when I get to the bottom of the steps and take in all the crates and boxes that represent the old me. Not the old me. Not the wallflower girl with the thick glasses and too-skinny legs, and the librarian mother.
The old me that came after that.
The one who wore latex, and corsets. The one who cracked the whip like she was born to use it. The one no one in their right mind would ever call meek, or dull, or plain.
I admit, I kinda miss the old me.
And once I start unpacking wardrobes, once I find the costumes, once I pull on the boots, and once I get that whip in my hand…
Well. I’ve made up my mind.
I will make Pierce Chevalier my bitch.
So I spend the rest of the night looking through boxes, prying crates open with a crowbar, and setting up Myrtle’s room of pain and pleasure.
And then I sit down at my computer and start typing.
When I go back upstairs it’s nearly three AM. But I don’t even feel tired. I feel… refreshed. Because tomorrow morning I’m going to give Pierce an ultimatum.
Either he meets my demands…. or I quit.
And when he says yes, because he will say yes, I will bring him into my room of pain and pleasure.
I will make him wear a collar.
I will put him in a cage.
I will humiliate him the way he humiliated me.
CHAPTER SIX - PIERCE
“That is a bullshit contract and there’s no way, I’m signing it, Derek!” I’m on the phone with my attorney, Derek. He’s a good guy. I’m lucky he’s on my team. “And there’s a million other lawyers who could negotiate a better deal, so either become one of them or I’ll find one of them!”
“Pierce. Please—”
But that’s all I hear him say before I take the nine iron that I’m holding and smash ‘end’ on the speakerphone on my desk. Which, I probably should have been able to foretell, also smashes the speakerphone itself. Damn.
“Valerie!”
I have to yell extra loud because the speakerphone is also my intercom, which I can’t use, because it is now broken. Because I smashed it with a nine iron. For fuck’s…
I take a breath, finding myself extra-stressed today. In fact, I’ve felt particularly worked up since leaving the restaurant last night.
I’m sure the two things are unrelated.
“Yes, Mr. Chevalier?” the meek voice that lives inside the meek body of Valerie says, as her meek head pokes its way through the glass door that accesses the glass wall that comprises my office. Once upon a time I thought that I might feel self-conscious having a completely translucent office, but then I remembered… I like it when people can see what I’m doing. Shows I have nothing to hide. Which isn’t exactly true, but image is everything.
In any case…
“Two things,” I
say, “One: I’m going to need a new speakerphone.”
“Yes, sir,” she says, writing it down.
“And two: Call my massage therapist. I need a treatment.”
“Yes sir,” she says, again. Also writing it down.
I observe her. She’s so nervous. So eager to please. So unassuming.
I really, really miss Myrtle.
“Oh, Mr. Chevalier?” she says.
“Yeah?”
“Ms. Rothschild is here to see you.”
Huh. I just manifested that shit out of that.
“Yeah? About what?”
“She didn’t say. She just started to head in on her own but then she kind of, um, saw you, well, smash your…” She points at my broken phone. “And then heard you yell and… and she kind of smiled, and sort of licked her lips, and adjusted her stockings, and then told me to tell you she needs to see you.”
One thing about Valerie, she’s specific when she relays information.
“She did, huh? Yeah, okay. Send her in.” I slide my nine iron back into its place in the canister I keep by my desk, straighten my tie, pull my vest down, and when I turn back around, Myrtle is standing there. Knee-length tube dress and tiny matching blazer taunting me with the memory that this is what I used to see every day sitting in the seat where sweet, scared Valerie now sits.
In addition to her too-sexy-for-most-jobs outfit, Myrtle wears a smirk.
“What was all that about?” she asks.
“What was what about?”
“The smashy and the yelly. Was that Derek on the phone?”
“How’d you know?” I ask, making myself comfortable in my office throne. That’s interesting. I never before realized how weird the phrase office throne sounds. Huh.
Anyway…
“Because you were yelling, ‘I’m not signing it, Derek.’” She tilts her head at me. “What aren’t you signing?”
“Oh, nothing,” I say, twisting my neck out. “There’s a chance to take over a new building in Paris. Finally open a Parisian office like I’ve been wanting to do forever. But the deal they want to make is bullshit. I know when I’m being fucked on real estate. I’ve fucked people on real estate deals dozens of times, so, y’know, you can’t pull that shit on me. I’m the fucker. Not the fuck-ee.” That didn’t come out quite like I wanted it to, but whatever. “In any case, I’m not signing it. What?”
