by Jamie Knight
I focused on the machine, a severed appendage the last thing I needed at that point. Especially if I did get accepted on the show. It was a pipe dream that seemed to be getting further all the time. It could have just been the way Mercy was talking it up, but it really sounded like it could be really great.
Then again, she made her phone sex job sound like a barrel of monkeys as well. The longer I knew her, the more it became clear that she had missed her true calling in public relations.
“Addie, can I see you for a moment?”
“Sure, Mr. Jensen.”
Shutting down the machine, I followed the foreman to his little office above the factory floor, where he could see everything that was going on.
The thin plywood door closed like punctuation. At least that was how it sounded to me. I ride to pretend that I didn’t know what was coming.
“Coffee?” Mr. Jensen asked, minding his well-learned, yet fraudulent, manners.
“No thank you, sir,” I said, resisting the urge to say ‘master.’ Even though it would make me feel a bit better, it would do little to improve my situation.
“I like to think life is full of opportunities,” Mr. Jensen began, a tidal wave of clichés clearly forthcoming.
I did my best to tune him out. I honestly believed that he thought he was helping, but that’s not how it seemed to me. From my perspective, he was just prolonging the inevitable and adding empty platitudes to injury, which in a lot of ways was even worse.
“It really wasn’t my decision,” Jensen said, doing a sterling impression of Pilate.
“Oh?”
“No, it is the owners, you see. Certain concerns have been raised about your safety. Not with the machines, you understand. We all know you are perfectly proficient there.”
“Thanks?”
“It has more to do with the other workers.”
“The fact that they hate me and drop lewd notes into my locker?”
“Yes, among other things.”
“What other things?”
“Certain, uh, threats have been made. Against you. By them. Most of them, anyway.”
“Death threats?” I asked, appalled.
“Not exactly.”
“Oh, I see. They’ve threatened to fuck me to death. With or without my cooperation.”
“I -”
He was clearly shocked. Mr. Jensen was the type to blush when forced to say, ‘breast of chicken.’ I felt a bit bad about it later. Like he said, it wasn't his decision and I seriously doubted that he was one of the ones who made the threats. I really was embarrassing the messenger. However, I wasn't thinking about that at the time. In the moment, I was just really mad about losing my only real source of income at the time.
“So, the long and the short of it is I can't work here anymore.”
“Yes," Mr. Jensen said, relaxing back into his wheelhouse, "we will give you severance pay, of course.”
I didn't cry. Not in the office. Not in the locker room, which I had to myself since starting there. Not in the exit tunnel.
I refused to let a single, solitary tear fall until I was back in my own clothes, in my truck, driving along the alarmingly empty streets. The usual traffic seemed almost like a comfort.
I couldn't really identify a singular cause. I was upset about losing my job because I needed the money. The rape treats were certainly upsetting, but no more than the notes or the graffiti. There was little chance any of them would have actually taken the risk.
But I could still understand the caution of the owners. Logical as the reasoning was, the last fifteen minutes of my life had only added to the avalanche of shit I was already dealing with.
I really wished I had Mercy here with me. She would know exactly what to say to help me feel better. Whether or not it was actually true was completely incidental.
My phone started to ring. Finding a place to pull over, I eased to the side of the road. I really expected to see Mercy's name displayed on the caller ID screen, but no. It was another name. A man’s name. Not Dave, thank Christ, but also not Duncan.
It was a name I had never seen or heard before. Fairly certain I would have remembered coming across a Tobias Ford.
“Hello?” I said, going for the more traditional salutation.
“Hello, is this Addie Harris?”
“I-it is.”
“Hello, Ms. Harris. My name is Tobias Ford. I am a producer at Avalon studios I am calling to inform you that you have been selected to be on the debut season of our exciting new reality TV show called Second Chance Bachelorette.”
“Oh.”
“We begin shooting on Monday. I can see you are on Long Island. We can send a car if you don't have one.”
I was speechless. Even his voice was beautiful, not at all like I thought it would be. For starters, I thought they would have some intern or secretary call to give me the news, not someone who sounded like he was the lead producer on the show.
Apparently, Mr. Ford, a designation on which he would very soon correct me, took a hands-on approach to running his shows. From what I had heard, a lot of producers also took a hands-on approach with female staff and performers. There was something in his tone that made me doubt that Mr. Ford was among their number. I had been around the truly unscrupulous before. He did not strike me as one of them.
“I'll be there,” I said.
“Shall I send a car?”
“Please,” I said, knowing full well that I would never be able to find parking downtown. The company cars probably had their own parking garage. Goodness knew that Avalon studios would have enough money.
I did not squeal or pump my fist or whoop-whoop until the phone was already hung up and I was sure Tobias couldn't hear me anymore, saving us both the embarrassment.
I was worried about leaving, just in case Dave decided he was sick of having Duncan around and decided to bring him back. It seemed unlikely, though, and it was a risk I would have to take.
The far bigger threat was that Dave would find out I was doing the show and decide to make a stink about it to the courts, using it as proof that I wasn't a fit mother. The more I thought about it, the more absurd the whole thing seemed.
Not that he would try to do such a thing. It was definitely within his capacity for petty cruelty. What seemed outlandish was the idea that anyone, let alone an experienced judge, would in any way take his mad ravings seriously. It seemed like a bit of a stretch.
The car was there exactly when he said would be. An intense looking young woman in a form-fitting black suit, with a bulletproof stare got out of the driver's side. I was to the car by the time she had the back door open.
It was almost like she was shielding me as I got in the back. The door closed with a crisp click and the car pulled away from the curb like a gilded carriage, whisking me away to what I hoped would be a better life.
My excitement grew with our proximity. I was born in Ithaca and lived on Long Island since I was a teenager, yet I had never actually been to the big, scary city. Not even for a visit or on vacation. Manhattan was as distant and exotic an island to me as Ireland or Bora Bora.
I did my best to contain my excitement and wonder as we crossed the bridge affecting an air of cool detachment, trying to match the one radiating from the driver. She tried to hide it behind the collar of her crisp white shirt, but I knew a scar when I saw one. I had more than enough of my own. Hers was an angry red ropy thing marking most of a circle around her otherwise creamy neck. Only the vary back of it. It looked like a burn, but it was an odd pattern. Rope. It was a rope burn. Someone had tried to hang her.
“Later, darlin’,” she said, letting me out in front of the massive building, her Virginia twang unmistakable.
It looked like a supervillain’s lair. The towering black glass reflected the world back at itself like a very tall inverse of the Fortress of Solitude.
Taking a breath to calm myself, I went through the sliding glass doors with what I hoped came off as a confident stride. Th
ere was a desperate lack of mirrors in the beautiful white marble lobby, which made it impossible to check.
“Yes?” asked the security guard, his cut-glass accent clear and clipped, standing like a Beefeater behind the desk.
“Hi, I'm Addie Harris.”
“Oh yes, go right through, Ms. Harris, you are expected.”
It took a moment for his words to sink in. Finally, they did, and I went toward the elevators, shocked at how easy it had been. Then again, who the heck would pretend to be me when they weren't?
The elevators hummed their way up the floors, quieter and smoother than any I had even been in. I guessed the designers of such an impressive building wouldn't have skimped on the details.
I wondered, just for a moment, how many workers were buried in the foundation. It was most likely spurred by the quote that I once heard that every Utopia is built on corpses.
The elevator chimed Clair De Lune, because of course it did. What else did I expect when it really came down to it?
“Hello,” I said, approaching the desk.
“Sit down, he'll be out in a moment,” the assistant said, not looking up from her typing.
The snark and efficiency in the same moment really was impressive, like watching someone juggle chainsaws on a unicycle.
“Now, Mari, that's not very nice is it?”
“Sorry, Tobias.”
I could have fallen over. Not only did the mysterious Tobias Ford have the voice of an angel, he was also the most beautiful man I had ever seen. Even his suit and jewelry, a Celtic cross ring on his right hand and a silver chaosphere pendant hanging around his neck, tapping gently against his blue silk shirt as he walked, were the paragon of perfection.
“H-hi,” I managed, my tongue not seeming to move properly.
“Oh, hello, Addie,” he said offering a hand.
We shook as the dictates of polite society would require, his hand so soft and smooth I felt a distinctive tingle in my nether regions.
“Shall we go down and take a look at the studio?”
I nodded vigorously, not fully trusting in my mouth to do the job properly. I was determined not to make a fool of myself in front of Tobias Ford, no matter what lengths I had to go to.
I could smell him. He wasn't wearing much cologne and it was actually quite tasteful. It was light and citrus smelling. We weren't even that close in the elevator. Something must have happened to my senses. I was aware of everything. Whether it was from fear or arousal was a coin toss at that point.
The studio really wasn't as scary as I thought it might be. It was actually pretty small and was mostly just a black room with some camera equipment with a chair set up in the middle. I assumed for me to record my monologues before or between the dates to be tied together to help make a narrative when the show was done filming.
“We won't be filming tonight, of course,” Tobias said, as if reading my mind.
“We won't?”
“Oh, goodness no! You get the night off and then tomorrow we start filming with the makeover and when that is finished, we do the first monologue and then the first date. It is a bit daunting, but we will try to make it as easy as we can.”
I could have kissed him and not just because he was being so nice to me. I would have expected him to be at least civil. I was their meal-ticket, after all. They had chosen me. I didn't even know I had been entered. Even so, there was something about the way Tobias acted. There was a genuineness to his gentleness that made me feel safe.
“O-okay,” I said, realizing I should probably say something.
“Great, I’ll have Clementine drive you over to the hotel.”
“Clementine?”
“My driver.”
“Yeah, I know, I mean figured but wow. That is just so perfect,” I said before I could stop myself.
“Perfect?”
“Her, name being Clementine. With the drawl and everything.”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” said Tobias Ford after a long, sage-like pause.
“Do you know what happened?” I asked, wanting to slap myself immediately after the words left my mouth.
“Happened with what?” Tobias asked patiently.
“Her neck, I mean -”
“Oh, her scar. I only know the basics but suffice it to say she had a spot of bother back home and needed a job when she landed here. She is one of the best drivers I have ever seen, so it was a natural fit.”
His answer raised as many questions as it answered, but I decided to just let it lie, not wanting to push within half an hour of meeting him. Yet he did seem totally open and candid, like the sort you could ask anything without him getting offended. He wouldn’t talk about other people without their permission but about himself all was open. At least, that was the impression he gave.
He didn’t leave me. It was only three floors back down to the lobby and the out the front doors, but Mr. Ford stayed with me the entire way. Never touching me but seeming like he might at any moment. Not in a creepy way but gentle and encouraging, not that I would have minded at all either. After shanking his hand, I started getting really curious about what it would be like for him to touch me in a different sort of way.
The car was there when we got out. Clementine stood by the open back door. I couldn’t see what it was. It was just big and fancy and electric white, and polished to a mirror-shine. It was nice enough to be impressive but not so flashy as to make me feel self-conscious. Much like Tobias himself.
“Where to, baby blue?”
“The Sixty on Allen,” Tobias said.
“Yessir!” Clementine said, actually saluting.
“What’s the Sixty?” I asked in all innocence.
“You’ll see,” Mr. Ford said with an enigmatic smile.
Like a good girl, I got into the car and let Clementine drive me. Wherever our shared boss dictated, I would go.
Chapter Four - Addie
Mr. Ford was right. I did see, and it was worth waiting for. The room wasn’t big. It was roughly the size of an average apartment on the Lower East Side. They made the absolute best of the available space, right down to the slick black and white color scheme. Even the iron was black. The highlight of the entire thing was the blue and white lightbox image of a tree built into the wall, giving the impression of a window into an alternative universe. I stared at it for nearly half an hour before being able to pull myself away. What started with aesthetic interest turned to existential fixation.
My cellphone rang its siren call. I had to be careful which calls I took. There were only so many minutes on my plan. I closed my eyes, trying to prolong the time before the terror struck if it was, in fact, he-who-must-not-be named.
“How do you like it?” Tobias asked.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered.
“Good. I thought a former art student might appreciate it.”
“I do,” I said, glancing back at the lightbox, careful not to be pulled back in.
“Great. You have an open tab with room service. See you tomorrow.”
“An open tab?” I asked, making sure I hadn’t fallen asleep for a couple of seconds.
All I could hear was a dial tone. It sounded like the sort of thing that he would say, so I decide to take him up on it.
Suitably situated in a soapy tub, a tray of the finest food and drink beside me, I did my best to soak away the stress of the last couple of weeks. The buzz from the champagne came on slow, easing me into a wonderful relaxation. I lowered myself further into the bubbly water and let myself float as if in a shapeless, peaceful void. Alone in my own personal space.
I wasn’t alone for long. Tobias soon appeared in the realm of my mind. The one I had spent years developing as a sort of haven away from my actual reality. Full and perfect, he looked much as he had the last time I had seen him.
He was in the same suit and everything. He reached out his beautiful hand, caressing the near length of my body from my face to my feet. I let out a euphoric sigh both in my mind as well
as in the tub.
It was a secret I kept close and only revealed to those I really trusted, but foot massages, well done foot massages in particular, drove me absolutely crazy. I could feel my pussy getting wet as he carefully massaged one foot and then the other, giving each an equal amount of attention.
Moving up my legs, he caressed his lovely hands along my shins and over my thighs, making the tremble with desire. Tenderly opening my legs with his hands, he moved ever upward, lightly cupping my aching pussy in his warm palm. Beginning with slow circular motions he coaxed a moan from deep within me. It was the kind of sound I had only heard about others making but never dreamed I would experience myself.
Lovingly parting my lips with the fingers of one hand he went from stroking me to penetration, siding two fingers inside me, getting all the way up to the third knuckle. I let out a soft moan to let him know how much I liked it. He started to work in me, gradually working up to a silken rhythm. I didn't usually make a lot of noise, but I did then.
Both in the void and in the tub, my sounds of joy echoed in the bathroom. There was a time I actually would have cared. I was getting past all sorts of inhibitions.
Cupping my pussy again to maintain contact, he lowered his head, giving me a long, slow caress with his tongue. I copied the motion with my wet fingers, trying to imagine what it would be like.
Licking me to a screaming orgasm, the Tobias in my head started planting soft, wet kisses on the outside of my pussy, making me hum with contentment. The contentment transferred to my concrete existence in the bathtub in Manhattan.
When I was calm again, he moved his kisses up to my pelvis and up over my belly to my tits. Stopping there a while, he worked on them softly, sucking each of my rock-hard nipples. First soft, then hard, making me moan, he softly spiralled his tongue around my areolae as he held each in his gentle mouth.
Moving onward and upward ever more, he kissed my lips. I immediately returned his affections. His tongue soon enough found its way into my mouth. So distracted was I by our beautiful make out session, I scarcely noticed when he mounted me.
