The Placement Agency
Madeline sat in the waiting room. Around her, lined along the four walls, except where the doors were placed, were other chairs filled with other waiting people; everyone dressed in similar pale colors. The walls were painted a pleasant cream color that melted into the matching cream carpet that always looked as if it were freshly cleaned.
There was nothing in the room to look at except the chairs, the doors, and the other people. Madeline didn’t recognize anybody. She was sure she knew some of them, but appearances change and she had met none of them during her recent experience. They could all wear name tags here, she thought, but they would be awfully long. She smiled at the idea, receiving a smiling reply from the lady across the room. Madeline looked away to avoid further eye contact.
She had watched as people came in the double doors at one end of the room and other people went out the doors on the other end when their name was called. Madeline had a rough idea of who had been present when she had arrived. There wasn’t a concern that she would be cheated out of her turn, she only wanted to have an idea when she would be called. So it was with some anticipation that she watched the young man with long, blond hair leave as his name was called; she would be next.
One of the small doors opened. An older lady, wearing small, round lens glasses, stuck her head out from behind the door. She looked around the room as if trying to guess who her next client would be. Failing in this attempt, as she did every other time, she smiled and said brightly, “Madeline? You’re next.”
Madeline had begun to rise before the first syllable of her name had been finished. The woman smiled again, offering it individually to Madeline.
“This way, please,” she said.
They were words wasted. Madeline had been here before. She knew she would be here again. She followed the older lady whose skirt billowed about her legs like a cloud. Rather appropriate, thought Madeline.
They walked through a maze of cubicles. Every thing was lit by lighting that was so indirect that Madeline was never sure of the source. Near the end of the room, though, Madeline could see the other door, the “out” door. She would be going out there; it was inevitable. What she did not know was where it would take her. She never did. No one ever did. Everyone tried to affect the outcome, which was the reason for the interview. But ultimately it was pure chance that decided.
Madeline was lead into a cubicle not far from the “out” door. She could even see it from where she sat. It was not an interesting door. Nothing about it drew your eyes to it or even made it seem compelling. It was, as she knew, what was beyond the door that compelled her and everyone else to look at it.
“So, Madeline,” said the older lady as she sat at her desk and pulled her keyboard to the end of the desk. “Let’s see what we can find.”
She began to type, then pause, then type some more.
“Well, it seems you’ve been rather consistent in your experiences.”
“Yes,” said Madeline. “And I’d like to change it, if possible.”
The old woman put her hands on her lap.
“You know, dear, that it is very difficult. Once you are stereotyped – and I apologized for using that phrase – it can only be changed with difficulty.”
“I know,” admitted Madeline. For a second her composure, like a veil of grief, began to slip. Tears marched to the edge of her eyes and threatened to jump. She swallowed and blinked the tears into a hasty retreat. “I’m so tired of being the same thing. I’ve been a slave, and a temple virgin, and a cloistered nun, and a prostitute.”
“Yes,” said the older woman in a matter of fact tone. “It says you terminated your last experience.”
“You try being a whore in Moscow,” Madeline said, her voice accusatory.
“You know how it works,” said the older lady, defensively. “We only know the beginning and set it in motion. We have no control over the outcome.”
“Yes, I know, I know,” said Madeline.
She could no longer control her agitation. Rising to her feet she began to pace back and forth in front of the desk that guarded the old lady. She clasped her hands tightly again and again as she turned and stepped, turned and stepped.
“I just want,” she said, then stopped. Turned and stepped. Then continued talking. “I just want to have some control. Each time I’ve been under the control of others, had control stripped from me, pulling my identity with it. How can this be a learning experience?”
“I don’t have the answers, dear,” replied the old lady. There was a smear of sympathy in her eyes and voice. “Let me see what there is that is available.”
The older lady pulled her chair closer to her desk, tilting her head closer to the computer monitor. Her fingers plodded across the keys and data scrolled up the screen of the monitor. She was silent for a few minutes. Madeline had stopped at the opposite side of the desk. She could barely make out the screen and its scrolling information.
“Ah,” said the older lady. She sat back and smiled. “I think I’ve found something.”
Madeline sat back down in her chair.
“Daughter of very wealthy parents. Very powerful family, strong heritage. Sounds like a promising start.”
She looked at Madeline expectantly.
They all sounded promising, thought Madeline.
“That’s all there is?” she asked.
“That’s the only good one,” she said. Then, “honest, Madeline.”
“Okay,” agreed Madeline. “At least the start sounds more promising. I just hope it gives me more freedom.”
“Sounds like it should.”
“We’ll see,” said Madeline. She rose to her feet, again, and shook the older ladies hand. “Thank you for your help.”
“Good luck,” replied the older lady.
Madeline turned and walked to the “out” door. She had done this numerous times. There was a certain anticipation that was beyond explaining. It was like standing in line to ride your very first roller coaster and standing in line to get your very first immunization shot as a child all rolled into one experience.
The door did not have a door knob. As she approached the door it began to open before her. The light that was beyond the threshold was the brightest thing she had ever seen. She could not even tell if there was a room beyond the door. The transformation was so quick that she never really had time to look. One moment she was stepping past the door into the light and the next she is overwhelmed with a range of emotions so great that she began to cry and then….
The doctor, with the assistance of a nurse, quickly severed the umbilical cord and wrapped the baby in a sterile towel and handed her over to her mother. The mother, her face red and sweaty, laughed and smiled as she took her daughter into her hands.
A few feet away was an oversized window that separated the delivery room from the next. On the other side of the window a man stood watching the scene. He wore a French designer suit of the best silk. His shoes were the best of Italy. Everything he wore was the best that could be bought. He looked at the doctor, caught the doctor’s attention, and without the slightest movement made his desires known. The doctor scurried to the door and entered the other room. He bowed deeply before the man.
“Ichimoto-san,” said the doctor.
“Well?” said Mr. Ichimoto with a growl.
“I’m sorry Ichimoto-san, it is a girl.”
“That is too bad,” he replied. “However, when she is older, the proper marriage can be arranged to secure our family’s position.”
“Yes sir, very good.”
Random Acts Of Storytelling Page 6