by Kailin Gow
“And how will you do that?” Kiley asks.
“We could pretend to be plumbers? Or...do you know anyone who knows Amy?”
“Everyone knows everyone in this city,” says Kiley. “It's just a question of knowing who to ask. And how. When's your deadline?”
“I don't have one,” I say. “But I know Philip, he likes things to be...punctual.”
“Phii---lipp” Kiley drags out the words. “He sounds like a real character. First he runs you over, then he gives you shit assignments? What did you do?”
I decide not to mention Kendall. Nobody would believe me even if I did say.
“Not to mention – he's got you running around like this, all flushed and sweaty and red – if I didn't know better, I'd say you were...”
“What?” Can she tell, too?
“Never mind,” Kiley says. “Just that you seem out of breath.”
I shrug off what she says and head to my closet. I look at the clothes I have. “Seductive...seductive...seductive...” I mutter. But nothing looks right. Black, right? Little black dresses? Those are classic, standard? I have a black dress that's ankle length. A little lace at the collar. That must be seductive. I grab it and put it on. Add some cheap fake pearls. Put on some lip balm. I look at myself in the mirror.
“Seductive, huh,” I mutter.
I go back out to use the hallway mirror, where there's more light.
“Who died?” Kiley is chewing gum loudly, popping bubbles at the kitchen counter.
“What?”
“Whose funeral are you going to? In that dress and those flats – you look like you're going to bury the dead.”
“Oh,” I flush. “No. I have a...”
Date? Assignation? Work assignment?
“I need something seductive,” I admit sheepishly.
“For a date?”
“Not exactly.” My mind searches for a lie. “For work.”
“You want to wear something seductive for this Philip guy?”
“I'm going to a nightclub where Amy's supposed to hang out,” I lie quickly. “Figure I might be able to run into her that way and start a conversation about dogs...”
“Clever,” Kiley raises her eyebrows. “But not in that dress. She'll assume you're the maid or something. Here, borrow something from me.”
She goes into her room and grabs a hot pink bodycon dress that looks more like a shirt.
“Try this on.”
She doesn't leave the room. Clearly she expects me to change in front of her.
“Um...okay.”
I put it on. It barely covers all my bits. I have no idea how Kiley, who is even curvier than I am, manages it without flashing it.
“This is my sex dress,” says Kiley. “I have never not gotten laid wearing that dress.”
“Ew!”
“I mean, I take it off, first!” Kiley giggles. “Usually.”
“Gross, Kiley!”
“Stop being a prude, Sid. It's dry cleaned. And you can borrow some shoes, too.” She pulls out what can only be described as “stripper heels.”
“I can't walk in those!”
“You don't have to do much walking. Just lean against the bar and let hot guys buy you drinks.”
Just what I need right now, I think. More men bothering me for sex.
“Okay,” I say. “I think I'm ready to go now.”
“Please,” Kiley rolls her eyes. “We haven't even started on the makeup...”
Chapter 10
Kiley starts to put the makeup on me. It feels strange, somehow. Surreal. Like the body she's touching isn't mine at all, like it doesn't even so much as belong to me. My flesh feels like a stranger's. How strange it is, I think. That I am trying to become someone I'm not – for him. Kiley puts my face in her hands, tracing my cheeks with her fingertips. She closes my eyes and smears sparkly glitter eyeshadow on the lids, a darker color for the creases. She highlights with a pale sky blue. I never wear makeup, and the feeling of the slick smooth powder on my skin is uncanny. Like I'm covering myself up. Like I'm hiding beneath this dark chocolate-colored eyeliner and the waves of blue mascara with glitter that Kiley is applying on my lashes. A safe mask, I think. Something that hides who I really am. Who makes me into....I don't know? Someone else? The girl that Philip LaFleur wants to humiliate, wants to degrade, wants to fuck?
What does Philip LaFleur want anyway? I wish I knew. When I first met him he was kind to me, jocular. He seemed to care about me – at least enough to keep checking in on me the whole time I was in the hospital. But maybe he just felt guilty about hitting me with his car. Maybe he was just afraid I'd sue him if he didn't take care of me. I should have sued him, I think. Probably would have given me the money to retire in comfort. But I didn't. I'd been so bamboozled by his wicked smile and his piercing blue eyes that I hadn't even thought about anything. I'd been putty in his hands from the second I met him. I'd let him do anything to me – anything he wanted. I'd let him assign me that crappy dog food story, hadn't I?
With Tegan I would have spoken up – been forceful. Demanded a better assignment. And she would have liked that about me. Respected my spunk. But with Philip I'd been so submissive. And the way he made me call him sir...
I sigh. Is he getting off on this, I wonder? This hot and cold, controlling behavior? Making me come to his place after hours. Insisting that I wear something “seductive?” Part of me is angry. How dare he do this to me! How dare he put me in this position of risking my whole career...just on his whim. Because I know that no matter what happens tonight, he is going to walk away scott-free. No consequences. No nothing. Philip LaFleur isn't going to be the slightest bit affected by whatever happens between us. He'll put another notch onto his bedpost, and then file me away in his category of half-pleasant memories. Stuff he'll fantasize about when he's old and decrepit and can't get it up for young girls anymore. The girls he used to be able to get into bed with just a look, just a word, just a command. I feel angry. My cheeks flush; they burn.
“What is it, honey?” Kiley looks down at me, her face a mask of concern. “What's wrong?”
“Nothing...” I say.
“It's not something to do with...uh....your nightclub assignment, is it?” She looks at me with an expression that makes it clear that she hasn't believed my earlier words about Amy.
“No,” I don't meet her eyes. “It's nothing, really.”
“Sid,” Kiley says. “I can tell something's wrong. I'm worried.”
“I'm just stressed out,” I say. “My new boss, the new way FILTHY DIRTY LAUNDRY is working. I'm worried about everything. I really don't like the way things are turning out at the office.”
“Well, I hope you have a good night tonight,” Kiley says, flicking a final cat's-eye onto the edge of my lashes with her eyeliner pencil. “You deserve it after all the stress you've been through with the job switch and the accident.” She grins. “Maybe you'll even get laid.”
“I hope not,” I say, too quickly. Too hastily. My cheeks flush redder.
“Why not?” Kiley laughs. “Oh, Sidney, you're such a virgin. Maybe you should let yourself have a little fun for a change.”
“Maybe,” I say. I just wish I could have fun, instead of worrying about my job, my career, Kendall LaFleur, every single consequence of the LaFleurs acquiring FILTHY DIRTY LAUNDRY magazine.
Kendall fetches me the final touches of my outfit. A matching clutch to shimmer alongside my gemstone stilettos. She's curled my hair, and now she fans it out on either side of my face, brushing it through once more with her fingers.
“There!” she exclaims triumphantly. “You look absolutely perfect, Sidney! I'm so proud of you.”
I look at myself in the mirror. My mouth drops open. That isn't me, I think. Not that girl staring back at me out of the mirror. The girl I see is some A-List movie star, used to nights at the Chateau Marmont and bottles of Moet and caviar and all sorts of luxuries. The girl in the mirror goes to red carpet events regularly, Ball gal
as, premiere parties. She's always the most beautiful girl in the room. She's....a lot of things. A lot of nice things, even. But she isn't me. I can't even feel proud of looking good. I look like so much of a stranger that I can't even associate the girl I see with me.
“Why, Sidney, you're beautiful,” Kiley looks at me admiringly. “I mean, you always look nice, but you really clean up good, huh?” She teases out my hair just a little more. “I'm sure you'll have a great night. Just remember: you have all the power. Especially when you look that that.”
I take one last look at myself in the mirror. My bodycon dress just barely covering my ass. My legs which look so much longer than ever before in these stiletto stripper heels. My chest looking enormous as a result of the dress's flattering cut. My hair long and curling over my back, over my shoulders. I look exactly like the sort of girl Philip LaFleur would want, I think.
The idea is both exciting and infuriating. I want him too, I can't deny that. But I hate feeling like desire is all on his terms. I hate feeling like he gets to be the one who decides what I feel, what I want, who I am. His control over my body is so terrifyingly absolute. And he's never even touched me. Never even held me. Never kissed me, not once. And still somehow I feel that I am his. And the feeling makes me drunk with desire and need.
My phone goes. Another beep.
My driver is downstairs. Philip's customary brusque tone. Proceed downstairs immediately. Don't be late or you will be spanked.
I can feel the heat rise in my cheeks.
“What is it?” Kiley leans in, her brows furrowing close together.
“Nothing,” I say. “I have to go.”
“Good luck,” she calls, as I head downstairs.
The black Audi SUV is there to pick me up. Probably the first time such a car has been seen in my neighborhood, I think bitterly. Maybe they think it belongs to some drug dealer or something.
The driver gets out. Opens the door for me.
“Miss Stone?”
He doesn't even look at me when he speaks.
“Y-y-es,” I say nervously.
“Mr. LaFleur is expecting you.”
I sit with my hands in my lap, trying not to fidget, as we make the drive to Philip's residence. The sun is setting all around me, and as we pull off the main road towards the ocean, I gasp at the sight. These houses aren't just luxurious, they're over-the-top splendid – the pink and gold and orange lights of the setting sun reflected in the sparkles of the sea.
We pull up to the most splendid house of all: located right on the waterfront. I cannot hold back a gasp. I never even realized houses like this exist, not in my wildest dreams, let alone thought that I'd ever be actually invited to enter one. When the car comes to a stop I sit like an idiot in the back seat, in shock. I'm not able to move.
“Miss Stone?” the driver says.
“Oh, uh, sorry.”
“Do you want me to help you get out?”
“Yes, sorry, sorry...” I blush again.
Then the door opens. Philip LaFleur emerges. He's dressed casually, in expensive, tight-fitting jeans and a freshly-laundered black T-shirt – a far cry from the formality of his office attire.
Philip goes to the driver and hands him an envelope. The driver nods and goes to another of the cars in the driveway, taking off in that. Then Philip and I are alone together.
He looks so different in his civilian attire. So...nice. Normal, even. Not the S&M-loving boss who looked like he was about to spank me. I wonder if I was imagining everything, misinterpreting his jokes as something dangerous.
“Let me take a look at you!” He smiles a broad, beaming smile. “All dolled up and ready for the night.” He holds out my hands, checks me out from head to toe. There's something almost clinical about the way he looks me up and down. Still, I find myself getting flushed and aroused from the feeling of his eyes on me. He is silent for a while. Then the words escape his lips. “Wow,” he says. “Look at you.”
Something rebellious rises up in me, a defiant streak I didn't know I had. I'm not going to let him just be the boss around here – at least, not without a fight. The words Kiley said earlier come back to me: an echo, a dream. You have all the power around here, she said. I only hope her words are true.
“So, I take it you approve of my seductive dress?” I say. I meet his eyes. I do not blush. I speak like I'm talking about work or the weather.
He looks faintly taken aback, slightly pleased. “Yes,” he says. “Very much so.” He twirls me around, his eyes lingering on my ass. “Every inch of you pleases me.”
Inside, I'm glowing. I allow myself to smile – just a little bit. I don't want to give too much away. “I'm glad,” I say. “Sir.” I imbue the word with mock submissiveness.
His eyes narrow slightly when I say those words. Like maybe he's more turned on than he expected.
He grabs my wrist, pulls me into the house almost roughly.
“Now,” he says. “We're away from the prying eyes of neighbors – and papparazzi...” He shuts the door behind us and pushes me back against it. He leans in with one arm, cornering me in the hallway. “What I do in my own place, in my own home, is my business, isn't it, Sidney? Not the world's?”
I keep my voice steady. “Yes, sir,” I say.
He squeezes his eyes shut, clenches his teeth. “That sounds so good when you say it, Miss Stone. Your lips, making those sounds....it makes me want to lose control.” His hands find the front of my dress, his fingertips tracing the valley of my breasts. I can't resist a little moan.
“Oh, Miss Stone,” he whispers throatily. “The fun I'm going to have with you.”
Chapter 11
I hold my breath as Philip takes me all in, devouring me with his eyes, contouring me with his fingertips. He isn't kissing me, isn't pressing his hands against me, isn't giving into this passion, this savage attraction which we surely must both feel. Instead he's painfully, agonizingly, in control, holding himself back from his desires and holding me back too. I can't stand the way he's so cold – even in the hottest furnace of passion. Like he's enjoying the way he makes me moan, just a little bit. He runs his hands down my chest, onto my stomach, then lower, through my thighs. I feel myself getting wet and hot yet he isn't able to tell. Why do I want him so badly? Why – when I know how wrong, how inappropriate this is? When I know how dangerous it is?
“Oh, Sidney,” he breathes. “You may write about A-List stars for a living, but the truth is that you outclass any of them. You shine like a star – you glow with sex appeal. You have what the old screen sirens back in the day used to have, Sidney. What Clara Bow and Marlene Dietrich had. What we used to call IT. We've come up with more elaborate names in the modern age for it, of course. But none of them so evocative, I think, as that one little word IT. That thing you have....as nobody else in the whole city has. You should be a star, Sidney. You're wasted here...”
Wasted on the dog food stories you assigned me, you mean? My conscious self is raging against his seduction, railing against his arrogant assumption that he can have me any way and any where he wants. My conscious self is getting angrier and angrier, telling me: run, Sidney. Get as far away from this creep as possible. But my body is telling me a different story. It's singing a whole different fucking tune. And he knows this. And I know he knows this. And it's absolute fucking agony.
What's going on here, anyway, I wonder? My head is spinning. How can this be? This gorgeous, sexy man – who can have anyone he wants – is devoting his attentions to me. But why? Surely there are tons of other girls in the office he could have, girls who are more experienced than I am, who are more beautiful, who dress like this all the time and don't need their Aussie roommates to paint them up like an Easter egg before they look good. This has got to be some sort of joke, some sort of prank, some sort of game.
Then it hits me. My stomach plummets. This must be one of Kendall's pranks. Even now she hasn't grown up past high-school. What is this – she's convinced her brother, the
ultimate charmer, the consummate playboy seducer, to...turn my head. Break my heart. Take dirty pictures of me, for all I know.
I can't let myself get close to this guy. He'll only hurt me, I think. He'll only break my heart.
“That's what players do, isn't it?” I say aloud, forgetting that I'm talking to Philip.
“What?”
I take a step away. It's the hardest thing I've ever had to do, but I power through my body's carnal ache. “All this...Philip. What is this?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Getting me all dolled up, using your position of authority to get me to come all the way over here...for what? SO you can make love to me, get it all on tape or on video or whatever sick thing you're planning just to hand them over to Kendall?” I am almost in tears. Anger brings heat to my cheeks and makes my throat close up. “We're in our 20's, and even now she's still trying to make my life miserable. And if you're part of that...”
“Sidney,” his voice is sharp and sure. “Why the hell would I send pictures of myself having sex to my sister? I may be...unconventional in my desires, but that's just...well, it's just disgusting. What the hell are you talking about?”
“You. Me. All this.”
“Are you saying you don't want me?”
My face falls. I can't say that. He knows it isn't true. I do want him.
“If you wanted me so much,” I say angrily, “You could have asked me on a date, a real date. Except that you're my boss. Which means you having me over like this, telling me I have to be your guide – like you're trying to conquer me. Like you're trying to get me to be submissive to you. And I don't like it – sir – I don't like it at all. I'm not going to sleep with you because I'm afraid you will fire me if I don't. I'm going to sleep with you because I want to.
No sooner have I said the words than I realize what I've said. I blush, but Philip smiles.
“You're right,” Philip says. “I apologize. You're right – I was wrong to invite you out here like this. As your boss, that was wrong. But as a man...” he sighs. “You weren't wrong about one thing, Sidney. I do want you to submit to me. I like that...very much. Nothing to do with Kendall. She doesn't even know I've asked you here tonight. I tend to keep the details of my sex life as far from my little sister as possible. As far as I'm concerned, she's still playing with ponies. But I am a straightforward man, Sidney. And I won't pretend I don't want what I want. I want to fuck you. I want to do filthy things to you. I want to conquer you, utterly, and make you mine in a way you never thought imaginable. And I want to get to know you better, too. I'm familiar with your work. Read plenty of your articles. I didn't imagine the author of that incisive piece on celebrity culture and Marxism would look anything like you.”