A Penny Saved

by Sèphera Girón

  What did he really see? Did he see her?

  Did he see the girl from long ago?

  Did he see the woman who originally wore this dress? Or was he lying to seduce her?

  The ritual of dinner had been completed and the bill was paid. She looked at him as he helped her from her chair. He raised an eyebrow.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “Ready for what?”

  “Ready to begin,” he said.

  “Yes, I’m ready. I’m ready for wherever you want to take me.”

  They walked out into the street and hailed a taxi and went to his warehouse in a funky neighbourhood called Liberty Village, which was nearly artistic if artists could actually afford the sky-high rents. His apartment was ensconced in a huge warehouse loft, renovated for the very rich. They took a private elevator to get up to it that he worked with a keypad. The elevator was mirrored and she saw two security cameras in the glass ceilings. Knowing him, they were decoys for the real ones. She knew how paranoid people had become in this day and age, and technology made it even easier to run with those feelings.

  The elevator door slid open and she stared into the giant room, a room larger than any school gymnasium or even some nightclub she had attended. Ornate Roman columns of gold, a waterfall at the far wall trickled down and beyond, and out the high glass bricked windows she saw the building next door. Warehouse living certainly allowed one to indulge in luxuries more so than the tiny crowded condos that decorated the waterfront. The new buildings kept going up, sprouting like mushrooms, livable space shrinking smaller and smaller as buildings themselves stretched taller and taller.

  “I like this place,” she said, stepping out of the elevator. Everywhere she looked in the room there was more to see. The makeshift walls with doors leading to other rooms, the ceiling so incredibly high it must have been twenty, thirty feet. She didn’t really know.

  The far wall where the building next door could be seen through windows was stacked quite high with glass bricks, the kind where the sun could shine in yet there was no clear view of anything but a distorted view of the wall next door. There were several sections where there was real glass. She presumed those panes opened in the summer time to let in some kind of breeze. There was a section of the room with a couch, again perched on ornate clubbed feet. Very overstuffed pillows filled the couch. Velvet chairs and polished wood gleamed.

  Vintage Gothic, mixed with modern-millionaire condo. Eclectic and gorgeous.

  Cora sank into one of the couches.

  “What do you think?” he asked. “What do you think of my special place?”

  She smiled. “I like it. Of course I like it. Who wouldn’t like it?”

  He laughed. “You’d be surprised. Or maybe not, knowing the cynical nature of humans and all.”

  Henry walked around the room, past the couch where she sat sighing enviously at the art on the wall, the soft fabrics between her fingers, even the high ornate-faux gilded ceilings, and he headed towards the door that led to a kitchen.

  “Would you like to continue on with the wine or would you prefer something different?”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “I was thinking that perhaps some absinthe might be in order. Something to sip while we discuss,” Henry said.

  “I do enjoy absinthe,” Cora replied, her mind racing back to the underground after-hours parties in abandoned warehouses. She’d been in a few raids but never arrested. The cops were usually looking for bikers and dealers, not the throngs of goth kids high on absinthe and pot.

  She watched Henry stroll around the room, plucking an absinthe spoon from a rack displaying several silver pieces, a silver tray from the sideboard, along with a bowl of sugar cubes and tongs. He stopped at the armoire and opened the glass door to pull out two absinthe glasses. He carried his tray of wares over to the coffee table in front of her. She picked up the absinthe spoon, admiring the fine swirls and slots of craftsmanship. The weight of it suggested real silver. She watched him through the spoon slots as he found his bottle of absinthe in a crammed liquor cabinet, and procured a pitcher of water from the bar fridge. Lastly, he produced a small barbeque lighter. He returned to her.

  “Beautiful spoon,” she said. He poured absinthe into the glasses. His fingers wrapped around hers, and she released the spoon into his grip. He placed the spoon over one of the glasses and set a sugar cube on it.

  “It’s from Transylvania, Vlad Tepes’ time. I won it at auction. One of my favourite pieces.”

  He poured a bit of absinthe over the sugar cube. The spoon glinted as the flame from his lighter torched the sugar cube. She inhaled the sweet smell of the burning sugar and grinned as he tipped the sugar into the glass and stirred, creating another flame. She grinned at the brief glimpse of the green fairy, beckoning her to taste new sensations. Henry poured water into the glass and stirred once more. He held out the drink to her.

  “For you, madam.” He nodded solemnly. She nodded back.

  “Merci.” She smiled as she stared at the cloudy green fog in her hand. Once that glass was finished, her mind would be somewhere else, that much she knew.

  Classical music played as they recanted the goth years, discussing who they had aligned with, how Henry had been co-owner of a few goth and fetish clubs over the years before going into the executive world. The usual small talk about business dealings soothed the ebbing seduction of absinthe and carnal desire.

  Cora was warm, her velvet dress not a warm caress anymore, but a velvet iron maiden designed to squeeze the sweat from her every last pore.

  Henry didn’t seem to notice her growing discomfort although he patted his own forehead a time or two as he catered to her with pate, fine cheeses and crackers.

  The second absinthe was prepared and he raised his glass to hers.

  “A toast, to my beautiful Cora.” He grinned.

  “A toast to you too, Henry,” she said. They clicked glasses as they stared into each other’s eyes. In a movie, they might have kissed, but she raised the glass to her lips instead.

  The familiar licorice burn touched her tongue. She smiled and then took a few sips.

  “Lovely,” she said. “Which one is this?”

  He went over to his cupboard and returned with four bottles of absinthe. He laid them out and explained to her the various types.

  “And this one is from your beloved Transylvania,” she said.

  “It’s not my beloved Transylvania. I’ve never lived there. I happen to have an absinthe spoon and I thought it would be fun to buy matching absinthe.”

  “It’s okay, Henry. I’m teasing.”

  “You will learn soon enough when to tease,” he said, his brow furrowing as his voice lowered. “In fact, I expect you to sample all of these flavours tonight as the beginning of your training.”

  “I’m not turning into an alcoholic for you,” she said. “I work hard and I’ll party hard on the weekends but if you think I’m going to lie around drinking absinthe under your spell, it’s not going to happen.”

  “We’ll see what happens, Cora. I’m fully prepared for every option and its subsequent consequence. However, you will find that alcohol is not included with every session. So enjoy.”

  “Mmmm.” Cora nodded, half listening. She was growing tired of his constant talking and wondered if he ever shut up. She looked around the room while he began a lecture about one of the paintings on the wall. After drinking more of the absinthe, she finally turned her attention to where he was pointing.

  So strange she hadn’t noticed it before. Had it been there before? She drank more of the absinthe, her head growing light. She squirmed on the couch, her legs suddenly restless. If she’d been in a club, she’d be ready to dance, but instead, she’d spent the day at the office, the night at a dinner table, and now here she was, trapped on a couch. As if she were stranded on Gillig
an’s island with the professor.

  She stood and walked over to where he pointed. The painting was mammoth but it was the subject that nearly caused her to drop her absinthe. Instead, she finished it in one long gulp. She turned to Henry and held out the empty glass.

  “I’d like another please.” He stood up as she returned her gaze to the painting.

  “Stunning, isn’t it?” He sat, preparing them both a round in fresh glasses with a different type of absinthe. As he pontificated on the quality of the drink and fiddled with the tools, she stepped closer to the painting.

  The creature who leered out at her, his painted body nearly ten feet high, was literally the stuff of her nightmares. His long black hair, his red gleaming eyes mocked her.

  The creature’s leathery wings were so wide that the painting couldn’t contain them. Copper, orange and browns swirled in design, and as she stood right up to it, each stroke was comprised of a circle. The entire painting was created from millions of painstaking dots as intricate as any computer program.

  “And you acquired this when?”

  “As I said, an auction in Madrid. Had it shipped over years ago.” He sighed, clearly frustrated at repeating himself. “Come watch the flames. Let’s see the fairy come back to life.”

  He lit the sugar cubes and stirred the glasses. Again she caught sight of the fairy winking at her before the cold water doused her laugh.

  “So it begins,” he said.

  They spent the next hour with Cora mostly admiring the various strange taxidermy and bizarre artifacts while Henry clicked on his laptop.

  At last, he was ready to print and walked across the room to a large desk where a printer-scanner combo was underneath. He plugged in the laptop and the room was filled with the clacking of twenty pages being printed twice.

  Cora stared at a stuffed capuchin monkey in the meantime. The plaque on its stand claimed that it had been the faithful organ grinder companion of one Andre Luckas in France who made his living on the streets.

  Cora could imagine the monkey dancing in the street, his little cup held out, the elastic on his little cap slapping against his chin every time he pulled up his pillbox hat to greet the ladies. He would chatter and hunt, looking for peanuts that his handler would plant in the hands of the curious children to feed him. In return the children and their parents filled the cup with coins.

  “Here it is,” Henry said as he tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Yes?”

  “Our contract. I’ve put it into an envelope for you. I want you to read it over. The first rule of the contract is that you tell no one about the contract. Or us. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Good.” Henry walked over to the coatrack. “I believe our business is done for the night. Once you’ve returned the signed contract, then we discuss how to proceed.”

  He rode with her down the private elevator and led her out into the street where he flagged down a cab. As she slid in, he gave the cab driver a chit for the company.

  “See you on Monday, Cora.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said.

  She clutched the envelope in her lap, checking every few seconds that she hadn’t dropped it. When she reached her apartment, she tossed the envelope onto her mail pile. She would read it in the morning. Trying to make sense of it after a night of champagne, wine and absinthe would be madness.

  She went to bed and for once, didn’t have disturbing dreams.

  The next day she pored over the twenty page document with a large cup of double-double coffee. Her head pounded from the mixed drinks and she’d already consumed the rest of her Tropicana juice, which both made her feel less dehydrated yet set her stomach churning.

  The contract seemed pretty straightforward in the parts she examined, if one could consider a master-slave fetish contract normal. She’d seen them before in books and on the Internet. There was nothing there that she honestly didn’t feel she couldn’t live with.

  Relinquishing of control.

  Safe words.

  Blahblahblah.

  Her eyes glazed over—it was all so tedious, especially from a former goth. She signed it.

  After all, at the end of the day, it was just a game. And she could quit any time she liked, contract or not. And who knew, perhaps this would be a way to fast-track. Yet, if she gained promotions through games, there was always a risk of being replaced.

  She flipped back through the pages, examining them for information about quitting, being replaced, rewards, benefits…it was all lacking. It appeared to be a sex game contract, with no attachment to her job. In a way she was grateful, and in another, her suspicions were roused.

  Should she really give it to him on Monday? Should she wait, draw out the suspense? But a good little slave wouldn’t manipulate the master, in the beginning.

  What did she have to lose?

  On Monday, she was at her desk, inputting the never-ending streams of data, as a shadow crossed her. She didn’t have to turn around, the icy countenance of Hazel preceding her chilly words.

  “Don’t forget to have the Smith report finished by noon,” Hazel ordered.

  “I’m doing the best I can. It’s a lot of work.” Cora sighed, her fingers never stopping. She held her tongue. If Hazel had given her the files on Friday when they had come into the office, then she would have had a full weekend to work on them. Now here she was, frantically typing pages of reports into the system with less than two hours to go.

  “No excuses. You’re the only one here who understands this report and we need it done.” Hazel turned and left, Cora listening as the sharp spikey heels hit the floor with every self-serving narcissistic step.

  Hazel just loved to throw her curve balls. How Cora would love to, just once, be able to throw something back.

  Hazel was one of those very clever career climbers. She’d only been at the company two years and was rapidly promoted from the telemarketing department to the manager’s office for her lack of empathy and shark-like instinct for attack.

  Cora took a deep breath, clicking away, focusing on finishing the report not only on time, but ahead of time.

  Again a shadow appeared across her screen. She was about to rudely tell Hazel to stop interrupting her when she realized it was Henry who had appeared at her desk. Vera and Connie spun around in their chairs at his entrance, without missing a beat as they said their spiels over their headsets. Seeing that Mr. Thomas wanted business with Cora, they raised their eyebrows at each other with knowing grins and spun back around. Cora didn’t appreciate their catty glances and her voice was curt when she spoke.

  “What can I do for you, Mister Thomas?” she asked, trying to avoid meeting his eyes as she turned in her chair to face him.

  “Have you had a chance to look over the report I gave you?” he asked, his demeanor stern. She swore she felt the laser beam stare of curiosity from her coworkers through the cubicle and into her back. She knew they were wondering if she would lose her mind after the bit with Hazel. Cora resisted an urge to giggle and shuffled around her papers for a moment then bent under her desk to retrieve the envelope from her briefcase.

  “Ah, yes,” she said, sitting back up again. She proudly held out the envelope that held the contract.

  “I think you will find everything is in order,” she said firmly.

  “I expect I will. Thank you, Cora.” He tucked the envelope into the stack of files underneath his arms and headed into his office. Cora continued to work, her typing growing slower as her imagination took hold.

  She had signed the contract and she had given it to him.

  What would happen next? There had been no plan in the contract. Just rules of the game.

  “What did he want?” Vera asked as she peered over the desk cubicle that separated them. Her eyes were wide behind her magnified reading glasses. The
other girls in the office turned to watch the conversation. Cora swallowed as ten pairs of eyes watched her expectantly.

  “Oh, I was working on a report for him. Over the weekend. A last minute thing.”

  “Which one?” asked Connie. “Should I be tweeting about it?”

  “Oh, no. We’re not at the media level yet, Connie, so just relax. I’m not really at liberty to discuss the specifics of this account just yet.” Cora smiled as she turned around to type.

  “Cora, come on, you can tell us. We know something is going on. There’s a merger or shuffle of some sort coming down the pipe. Some of us are going to lose our jobs. If there’s something going on, well, fore-armed and all of that…” she said in a loud whisper.

  “I can’t…just yet. Don’t worry. You’ll be the first to know when the time is right.”

  Vera scowled and popped her head back down. Cora had no doubt she was making signs with Connie and the others about how she was lying. They already considered Cora an odd duck even though they invited her out with them after work, likely for nothing more than scapegoat material. If they thought she was in cahoots with the boss, her tenuous relationships with them would be broken.

  “Believe me, girls, it was nothing glamorous or spectacular. Just plain old number crunching,” she said firmly, her fingers punching the keys loudly.

  Cora’s heart pounded so hard that she swore the girls could hear it. A sudden sweat broke out along her forehead and as she reached down to her purse to get a tissue, she noticed a penny had fallen out. She picked it up and examined it. She made a wish and kissed it.

  She was about to return it to her purse, but instead, added it to the collection of found pennies on her desk.

  The collection shone under the florescent lights, with a bit of stray sunshine boosting the glamour with its errant rays. She had begun the mayo jar collection about a year ago and was thrilled to see how it was nearly full. There were a lot of wishes in that jar, in her purse, in containers all around her apartment.

  If she ever had hard times, she could roll them up for a few weeks’ worth of groceries.