Leila: Goddess The Second Coming

by R. J. Castille

  “Very well, Bentley,” I finished my sandwich and slurped down the iced tea I had purchased at the coffee shop in the lobby at B.S. Industries. I was glad I had done so, since I was in the midst of consuming large bites of bread and turkey as quickly as humanly possible. Once I had swallowed the last bite, I carefully blotted my mouth with a napkin before standing. I quickly gathered the wrapper and used napkins, balling them together tightly. Bentley stood abruptly, tilting his head up slightly to look at me, his eyes squinting in the bright sun. He appeared a little disappointed as I turned and took my empty tray and the trash toward the receptacle near the entrance to the restaurant. I discarded the contents of the tray into the bin and placed the tray on top with the few others that had already gathered there.

  Not wanting to upset Bentley too much, he was ultimately my boss and mother’s husband after all, I wove my way through sets of tables and chairs back to the table we had occupied together. Mr. Simms had taken his seat again and was picking at the turkey sandwich that sat, barely touched, on his tray. Upon my approach, he rose again quickly, offering me another hug as I prepared to leave. As apprehensive as I was, I decided to oblige him. What’s one little hug? My thoughts attempted to justify my actions as I allowed him to fold me into his arms. He patted me on the back a few times before allowing one hand to slide down to my lower back, resting in the curve at the top of my buttocks. Before I could stop him, his hand slid farther down and caressed one side of my ass. I ignored his gesture and simply withdrew from his embrace. I was abruptly incredibly uncomfortable with the whole scenario. Smiling nervously at him, I turned toward the direction I had come and sauntered off .

  As I walked back toward Bentley’s building, I found myself having to count inside my head to calm my nerves and keep from breaking into a full sprint back to the office. I could feel his eyes on me as I made my way along the street. Turning my head to the side, I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye. He had taken his seat, shoulders slumped far forward as he continued to pick at his lunch. I sighed out loud as I entered B.S. Industries and finally escaped his lascivious stare.

  In order to make it through the rest of my afternoon, I focused on menial tasks that Ms. Herrera had given me. I had offered to assist her with some of her tasks until Mr. Swanson made it into the office and it was a welcome distraction. Time ticked by slowly as I made copies, sent several faxes and filed numerous documents in filing cabinets that lined the wall opposite the door. I was feeling more productive by the time my phone rang. The caller ID informed me that it was Michael Swanson calling. Finally!

  “Good afternoon, B.S. Industries, this is Leila. How may I assist you?” I had practiced that line all evening prior to my first day at work. It sounded foreign in my ears, I was so used to my former place of employment, and it would definitely take some getting used to.

  “Good afternoon, Ms. King. This is Mike Swanson, I just made it in. Would you please join me in my office in fifteen?” He seemed very calm. His voice carried through the phone and was quite soothing considering what I had just experienced at lunch.

  “Absolutely, Mr. Swanson. See you then,” I finished speaking and expected him to respond. Instead, he simply hung up the phone. How rude! My mind was in upheaval. It was already difficult for me to leave G. Roth and Associates, it was not helping that the owner of the company, my step-father was apparently attracted to me in a way I had no interest in reciprocating. Not to mention, it appeared my new supervisor lacked basic and common courtesy. I sighed out loud before I could stop myself, causing several of the others around me to glance in my direction. Lowering my head slightly, I pretended to scribble something onto the steno pad I had placed in the center of my desk ready to write down any message or instruction from my caller.

  I finished up the stack of documents Lisa had given me to file to kill off ten more minutes of my day. My mind was whirling as I grabbed the steno pad and two pens from my desk and exited the quasi-cube farm. Mr. Swanson’s office was on the opposite end of the building. A long hallway channeled me in his direction; ceiling to floor pane windows graced me with a gorgeous view of the valley. Tufts of trees cropped up between concrete and brick buildings, as if they were slowly trying to take over the area. I breathed in a large cleansing breath as I neared the end of the hallway and the small space opened up into a large foyer. Doors surrounded the room with brass plaques fixed to the center of each one. I glanced quickly at the names until I located my new supervisor’s door. I approached the door and grasped the handle in my hand before deciding against opening the door before knocking. My knuckles rapped softly on the wooden surface, I could almost hear the sound echoing from within.

  “Come,” a short commanding response. What is it with men and their one-word answers? I chuckled to myself quietly at the thought as my hand grasped the door handle again and turned. The door swung inward slowly, a blast of cool air reached my face as I breached the contained space. It was darker in Mr. Swanson’s office than in the foyer so I waited a few brief seconds while I allowed my eyes to adjust. I glanced around his office, there was nothing much to behold. Apparently, Mr. Swanson was a simple creature.

  To my right, a bookshelf housed dozens of thick titles. I tried to read a few of the spines rapidly to see what my new boss was about, what his interests were. Mostly conspiracy theory, political titles and a handful of nature features. Great, another know-it-all! My mind was definitely working overtime. A smile touched my lips as my eyes continued to shift across the room. On the opposite wall, two tall filing cabinets were spaced evenly and centered perfectly on the wall between two windows. Above them, an abstract painting hung. At first glance, you would see nothing but smears of paint, a wash of color in a dark room. Upon closer inspection, a tall female figure was apparent with several male subjects bowing in homage at her feet. I was caught off guard when I realized what the painting was, and a little shocked to see such a thing in a Vice-President of an Information Technology Company’s office.

  The sound of a man clearing his throat loudly shook me from my lamenting thoughts. I snapped my head in the direction of the desk that sat opposite the door I had entered. Mr. Michael Swanson, Vice-President of Development, sat behind a small desk. It was almost too small for him as he had a large frame. Broad shoulders framed his thick neck and his arms had stretched the fabric of his button-down so tight, it seemed as though they would tear at any moment. Crips white fabric, finished with a collar starched to perfection, buttoned all the way up to meet a charcoal grey tie with what appeared like shells scattered across the length. Mr. Swanson cocked his head to the side and regarded me curiously. One dark, thick eyebrow raised slightly in an inquisitive fashion.

  “Do you like the painting?” Mr. Swanson finally broke the awkward silence with what he decided was a good subject. I glanced quickly back at the painting, it reminded me of something that Master Jason would have hanging at the Red Velvet Room. Smiling at the idea, I turned my attention back to my new supervisor.

  “It’s beautiful! Who painted it?” I indulged him. It was quite clear he was proud of the piece, although his face took on a more puzzled look when I asked.

  “I have forgotten! Oh, but this piece came at a hefty price, I picked it up at an art auction in Downtown. It…spoke to me,” he stopped speaking, a faraway look washing briefly over his face. It suddenly occurred to me that Mr. Swanson ma y be likeminded. Perhaps a submissive male or a switch. The look in his eyes as he gazed at the painting reflected adoration for the woman who deserved the worship of all those around her. I was finally a little more comfortable in my new surroundings.

  “Well, Mr. Swanson, you have wonderful taste,” there was never anything wrong with a little ego stroke. Especially in my situation, being the new kid on the block, I needed to make an impression and the painting had served as a perfect avenue to do so.

  “Please, Leila, we are all family at B.S. Industries. Call me Mike,” his eyes gleamed with delight. It made me a little nervous t
o think that my new supervisor was clearly into a lifestyle I was very familiar with. At least he was into gyneolatry, the worship of women. I could definitely live with that.

  “Ok, wonderful. Mike it is then,” had it not been for the unwanted advances of my step-father earlier, my day would have gone quite well. After meeting my new supervisor, and discovering his surprise, I was feeling much better about my situation. At least I thought I was .

  Mike and I chatted for a several moments, mostly about my background and expertise, a little more about the painting. I jotted down a few assignments that he mentioned casually as we spoke, making note of them to follow up with him later for more guidance. Mr. Swanson’s easy disposition was refreshing and made me more comfortable as each moment passed. Thirty minutes later, I exited his office with a new sense of confidence. He had complimented me on my numerous skillsets and appeared quite pleased that he had gained an assistant with such a broad range of abilities. If he only knew. A maniacal laugh echoed through my mind, bringing a smile to my lips once again as I practically skipped back to the office space where my desk waited.

  The rest of my day flew by. Before I knew it, it was quitting time and I was free. I tucked my things into the small, single drawer that my desk afforded me. I placed two pens in a cup on the right, top edge of the desk, grabbed my purse from underneath where my feet rested, and turned toward the door to leave. As I did so, I ran straight into Bentley Simms’s broad chest.

  “I….I’m sorry,” I stuttered, tripping over my words as I spoke. I was surprised at his presence and caught off guard th at he was so close behind me, yet I did not hear him approach. Once again, the nervousness settled in the pit of my stomach at the sight of him. His grin was a feeble attempt to mask his true intentions as he reached toward me and touched my arm, pretending to steady me. Strange electric energy flowed between us. I did not like the way it made me feel and I was quickly growing concerned that his behavior would continue indefinitely.

  “Not to worry, Leila. I was just coming over to say goodbye and see how well you enjoyed your first day,” he finished speaking and lowered his eyes slightly; dark pools of mystery regarded me, waiting for me to respond.

  “It was good. Perhaps a little slower than I am used to, but Mr. Swanson finally came in and I now have some tasks that will occupy my time, for a few days anyway,” I felt like I was speaking too fast and I wondered if Bentley detected the slight shaking in my voice. Finishing my last sentence with a nervous laugh, I lowered my arm, causing his hand to slide harmlessly off. Instantly relieved, I nearly sighed out loud but that would only serve to insult him, I was sure. I decided it was best if I just played it cool and got out of there as quickly as possible. If it was possible .

  “Wonderful news,” his mouth stretched wider, causing him to take on the appearance of the Cheshire Cat. Shifting nervously on my feet, I tried to make it obvious that I needed to leave without being rude and dismissing him. I would never hear the end of it from my mother, Madeline King, if I could not make this situation work. My mother loved to lecture, that was for damn sure.

  I smiled back at him, anxiously awaiting the moment when I could escape his company. The way he looked at me was unnerving and I could not shake the strange feeling I got every time he came near me. I first noticed it the day I went to my mother’s house and told her I was pregnant. The way he looked at me, like he was devouring every inch of me, did not sit well with me and with each passing moment, it seemed to get worse.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Simms, but I have to go now. I have a few errands to run on my way home,” I was trying to be cordial. In order to maintain my composure, despite feeling like a trapped animal, I counted silently inside my mind and waited for him to step aside and allow me to take my leave. Fortunately, as if he read my mind, Bentley moved to his right, turning his shoulders so I could slide past him. I waved goodbye as I dashed out the door and down the hallway, relieved to be out of his vulturine presence.

  As I made my way home, I backtracked slightly and stopped at my apartment to collect a few things. It seemed strangely empty despite most of my things still occupying the space. I had slowly begun to move my belongings to the penthouse, but left the large items until later. Gordon had decided that we needed all new furnishings and that my humble pieces could be donated, given away, burned for all he cared. It was about starting fresh, starting new. I was sad to see some of my things go and I did put my foot down about the console table. It had been a gift and I insisted that I bring it with me. Gordon reluctantly agreed.

  I stuffed several toiletries into a canvas bag. My favorite shampoo, sensitive toothpaste, lotion, and my entire makeup kit. Afterward I retrieved a small suitcase from the closet in the bedroom and started to place my dress up outfits in neat stacks inside. Between several layers of lingerie, I tucked some of my masks. When it was completely full of silk and leather, I zipped the suitcase closed and stood it on its wheeled end. Extending the handle upward, I guided it through the apartment and left it resting by the door while I glanced around the apartment to see if there was anything else I absolutely could not live without.

  On my way down the stairs, I passed one of my neighbors. I acknowledged them with a nod as I carefully traversed the staircase and made my way to the street where my Jaguar waited patiently for me to emerge. Pressing the trunk button on my keyless entry, the hatch popped open as I approached. I placed the suitcase and canvas bag inside and shut it again before rounding the car to the driver’s side and easing into the driver’s seat. My car came to life with the push of a button and I edged into traffic, heading in the direction of my favorite home-away-from-home, the freeway.

  Traffic was lighter than usual. I drove along the concrete river, humming along to the tunes that flowed from the Bose speakers the Jaguar was equipped with. A soothing, crystal-clear sound that enveloped me as I made my way to the penthouse. As I exited the freeway and cruised the boulevard that dead-ended at the coast, my thoughts wandered back to my day. I knew I could definitely work with Mr. Swanson, however, I was having difficulty dealing with the presence of my mother’s husband. Bentley Simms had continuously sought to take advantage of his position and, let’s face it, was a walking sexual harassment lawsuit. I searched my mind for a resolution but came up empty. It was only a matter of time before I would likely be faced with a decision I never wanted to make.

  By the time I pulled into a parking space a few slots down from where Gordon usually parked his limousine, I was completely absorbed in my last thought. If I had to leave B.S. Industries due to my step-father’s inability to keep his hands to himself, whatever would I do? I certainly needed the money as I was now multiplying into three, but was definitely unwilling to deal with the constant barrage of inappropriate behavior on behalf of my new boss. It seemed as though I had gone from one bad situation to another, with no end in sight.

  I gathered my things from the trunk of the Jaguar and closed the door, pressing the lock button on the remote as I walked toward the entrance to the penthouse. As the doors slid open, a blast of fresh, cool air reached my face. I paused for several seconds and allowed the air to continue to chill my skin. Crossing the lobby, I nodded at the occasional staff member mulling about, sweeping and dusting the area. The receptionist glanced at me briefly before smiling and acknowledging me with a swift motion of their head. She quickly went back to whatever had her attention on the surface of the counter in front of her.

  The elevator chimed and the doors slid open on their tracks. I entered the space and keyed in the code on the panel. Sliding back closed, I felt the familiar, churning sensation in my stomach as the car slowly started to rise. As I cleared the roof of the lobby, the ocean came into view. I drank it in, mesmerized by the sparkle of the sun on the waves. Tiny figures ran along the waterline, occasionally jotting into the waves before heading back to the sandy beach. In the distance, I watched a flock of seagulls fly over the water, gently dipping into the waves in attempt to retrieve a tasty morsel. My t
houghts were interrupted as the elevator came to a stop at the top floor and the doors slid open.

  Finally home again, I pulled the suitcase behind me, the canvas bag slung over the handle to allow me to carry everything more easily. I parked it next to the bed before making my way to the kitchen area. Glancing around the open floor plan, I observed that fresh roses had replaced the ones from the week before, emitting their sweet scent throughout the area. Gordon had no doubt ordered the entire batch be replaced before I arrived back home from my first day at the office.

  I spied a white envelope set against a small vase with a single, long-stem rose placed in a small amount of water. The print on the front was easily recognized to be Gordon’s. “Leila,” was printed in all caps across the front of the surface with a swirl pattern underneath. I smiled as I picked up the envelope and turned it over to tear open the flap. A beautiful card was inside, it appeared to be made of hand-crafted parchment. Several butterflies flew across the front at an angle, pink patterns flowing from behind them with intermittent glitter glued strategically throughout the design gave you the idea that they were in flight. Inside the card, Gordon had placed a platinum American Express card. The raised lettering on the card read my name, Leila King. A simple message was hand-written inside the card and, as I read the words, my breath caught in my throat.

  * * *

  Dearest Leila,

  This is the first of many wonderful things I am prepared to give you. I have provided you with this unlimited credit card to purchase anything you may need, or that you feel you want. Especially if it is for our babies. It is my way of thanking you for being in my life. I will be home late this evening, I look forward to every moment I spend with you.