Love, Honor, and Obey
Chapter Five. Designated Driver
He got to his desk later than usual. It was inevitable. There was the fabulous sex (she held his head firmly until he made her cry out and buck); the shower, followed by the fabulous sex (she’d ridden him like a pony); the French toast, which was almost followed by more fabulous sex until she remembered a client was coming and packed him off in his car semi-dressed so the client wouldn’t be traumatized. All in all, it had been nearly 11 by the time he got to his desk.
Didn’t matter; the words came pouring out. He finished the Coke machine chapter—he was glad to see it go—and moved into one with a very different tone. It was narrated by a nameless figure who posed with tourists on the sidewalk dressed in an Elmo suit. Elmo isn’t usually a menacing figure, but there were some hints that the man inside this particular fuzzy Muppet suit wasn’t entirely what he seemed. For one thing, his favorite stretch of sidewalk was just outside the Broadway theater playing the musical of AMERICAN PSYCHO. Did the Elmo-man just want to be a serial killer, or was he one?
He was having quite a day at his desk, in fact. Something had happened to him, and clearly it had to do with Elle.
He didn’t stop for lunch, but he did call a florist—a real florist this time; the clerk had been confused when he asked her to promise him he wasn’t ordering another part of high heels—to send over a bouquet to thank her for a lovely evening.
While he was calling, she filled his mind suddenly—her eyes, her voice, the faint smell of her perfume . . . the taste of ice cream . . . . Then she dropped out suddenly and we was back in his imaginary world, with Evil Elmo, who was eyeing teenage girls playing hooky in the big town. No one would miss them. But then—no—Evil Elmo turned back, brooding over his own nature, and the girls went on uptown.
It would ordinarily have given him the creeps to write it, but he was having too good a time.
Then it was five o’clock, and the words stopped with a snap.
He needed to hear her voice. It would be embarrassing to call her. Then he wondered whether being embarrassed wouldn’t be kind of sexy. No; he had decided not to call her. So calling her was what he wasn’t going to do. What wasn’t he going to do? Call. Who wasn’t he going to call? Her.
No. Don’t call. Don’t think about calling. Don’t pick up the phone. The phone he could dial to call her, which he wasn’t going to do because it was too soon to call her, it would be rude, he certainly wouldn’t call her . . .
“Hello, Elle?” he said breathlessly. “It’s Louis.”
“Oh,” she said. “Louis. Hello.”
“Is there anything I can do for you? Do you need me to run errands or something? Should I come over to help out?”
Pause.
“No,” she said coolly. “I’m all set. We’ll get together soon, though, I am sure. Okay?”
“Yes, of course.” She hung up.
He got up and went into the kitchen. There was nothing really to do, so he sat there while the shadows in the kitchen grew longer.
He could think of various things to do. Go for a run. Watch TV. See a movie. Read a book. Call a friend.
All were really good things to do. But he couldn’t choose between them. He needed—
He needed Elle to tell him what to do.
He’d lived alone for—how long?—three years since his last serious relationship. And for all that time he’d made those basic decisions without any problem. It was actually fun to be able to do things on impulse, or to do nothing if he felt like it. He’d spent his time the way he chose. In theory he could just make a choice now of how to spend his evening. It was up to him.
But. He couldn’t. Not since he’d seen those eyes. Not since he’d heard that voice. Not since he’d seen that . . . spoon. He wasn’t his any more. He belonged to her. And whatever decision he made about his time, it would be the wrong decision if she didn’t make it for him. And if she didn’t want to make it for him—if she didn’t think he was worth deciding for—then . . . what?
The phone buzzed in his hand. He was so startled he almost dropped it. He looked at the screen.
It was Elle.
“Meet me at Greene’s in 15 minutes,” she said. She hung up again.
Greene’s was one of his favorite bars. Dark wood, hushed voices. A great collection of single-malt scotches; a good place to talk, especially if you got a booth in the back. If they did, he’d have her all to himself.
Or. She’d have him.
He walked in, breathing hard, five minutes late. She was in a booth, staring into an old-fashioned glass. He puffed over and sat. “You’re late,” she said.
He sat up straight, suddenly feeling guilty and small. Like a teenage boy in front of the teacher. The sexiest teacher in the school. He felt small. Very small. He felt as if he were standing on the palm of her hand, in fact. She could devour him in one bite.
That was scary. Or sexy.
“Sorry,” he said, still slightly out of breath. “It was a longer walk than I remembered.”
“You walked? Why?”
“Well,” he said, “you sounded like you wanted a couple of drinks. I thought it might be useful to have someone to drive you home.”
She seemed to focus on him for the first time. “You’re my designated driver?”
“Well, sure,” he said. “Everybody needs one.”
Like a break in the clouds on a grey day, she smiled at him with something like affection and amusement. “That’s pretty darned thoughtful,” she said. “Thanks.”
“I’m the chauffeur.”
“Nice,” she said. “You’d rock the uniform.”
He really did blush now, all the way down to his toes. Chauffeur seemed like a desirable job.
She beckoned the waiter over. “I’ll have another Laphroaig 18,” she said, then, to Louis, “What about you?”
“Just some club soda,” he said.
“So,” she said when the drinks arrived. “You asked about my story. You sure you want to hear it?”
“You bet,” he said. “You may be the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”
Again she looked surprised. “What would you like to know, then?”
“Well, where are you from? Where did you grow up?”
She sighed and looked back at the glass of Scotch. “I grew up all over.”
“Military family?”
“My parents were road-company actors. I don’t mean we were transferred often. I mean, one night in Cleveland, two nights in Chicago, a week in St. Louis, then a tour of the Southwest. She was the English beauty. He was Austrian. Or so he said. I was the funny little daughter in the corner with glasses and pigtails reading a math book for my homeschooling.”
He started to say, “I can’t picture—“ but then realized his job was exactly that: to picture. The magnetic, commanding beauty in front of him really had once been a little girl. And that little girl was still inside her somewhere and apparently wanted to come out.
“You studied backstage?”
“Sure. The alternative was to stay at the hotel, which was a lot more boring.”
“Was it fun at all?”
And with that, the story began to come out. Yes, it had been fun in some ways—the travel, the wild characters in the troupe, the music and makeup and world of make-believe. But scary in other ways. Her parents were never sure they’d be working six months or a year hence. Money was scarce. There weren’t other kids to play with. A lot of strange people coming and going. She hung out with a scarecrow, a tin man, and a lion. Her friends were aging leading ladies, musical-comedy baritones with dyed brilliantined hair, roadies and sound men and itinerant magicians. “And there was the Amazing Ray, of course. He probably is why I am who I am today.”
“The Amazing Ray?”
“Yes, he was kind of a cross between W.C. Fields and Peter Sellers, a big fat guy who could do anything with his voice, any song, any accent. He was also a ventriloquist—he had dummies named Hugo and Marianne—and a stage hypnotist.”
“Really? He made people jump up and cluck like chickens?”
That laugh bubbled up. It was so musical and sexy that heads turned all over the bar; but she didn’t seem to notice. “Oh, Louis, how silly can you be? Stage hypnosis is great entertainment if you do it right! Ray could get people—shy people, people who didn’t know they had it in them—to sing, to dance, to act even, in scenes with other people. It was fun to watch—because the volunteers were having fun!”
“Really? They weren’t embarrassed?”
“Well, I hypnotized you at the party,” she said. “Were you embarrassed?”
“Of course not!” he said at once. Then he wondered why he had said it. It had just come out without a moment’s thought. “I was—proud.”
“I told you to be. And Ray did the same thing, and mostly they went away happy. Ray taught me how to hypnotize someone. I would have done it if I had had any friends. My dream was to be his assistant when I grew up. But that didn’t happen.”
“Why not?”
“Because one day my parents . . . disappeared.”
“What do you mean, disappeared?”
“I mean,” she said, “I woke up one morning in an empty hotel room and they were gone and I never saw them again.”
“What happened?”
“Nobody knows. But a few days later, my mother’s sister took me home with her to the suburbs. I went to high school like 100 other girls with pigtails, and here I am.”
She drained her glass and stood up. “Let’s blow this pop stand.” She stalked off to the ladies’ room. God, she was beautiful. A woman who walked like that would be welcome to walk over him any time.
He paid the check. when they got to her car, she handed him her keys and said, “Take me to your place.”
He suddenly felt alarm. His house wasn’t exactly messy; no. But it was a a bachelor writer’s house. There were piles of books on the floor and papers on the dining room table and strange post-it notes on the walls with a word or two that had come to him during the night. He’d been writing so much the last few days that his mail had piled up on the front hall table. His refrigerator had some cheese; some New Mexico green chile sauce; a dozen eggs; and half a Peruvian chicken. There was a bottle of vodka in the freezer compartment.
But she hadn’t asked or suggested. She’d given an instruction. “Okay,” he said. “I don’t live far.”
He led her in the front door and took her jacket. “It’s getting a little chilly, but we can sit out,” he said. “Or we can sit here and order pizza or something.”
She put one lacquered forefinger on his chin and turned his head until he was looking her directly in those compelling eyes. “Louis,” she said. “Look at me and listen carefully. Look at me, don’t look away, just look into my eyes, that’s it, very good. Let yourself go into that warm and happy place of trance, just look at me, listen to my voice, feel yourself floating . . . “
He was aware that he was standing in his living room. But at the same time he was floating, he was standing with his feet in a cloud, he was falling, falling into a pair of eyes the size of the sun, he was growing smaller and smaller . . . .
“Louis, listen carefully, every word I tell you is the absolute truth. You’re standing in the palm of my hand. You will follow all my suggestions. Your will is gone. All you want to do is what I say. Nod your head.”
He nodded.
“Good boy. Now, when I snap my fingers you will discover that you need to clean up the house. You want to clean up. You know that I have commanded you to clean up. You are eager to obey. Obedience is fun. It is safe. It is sexy. Now—one—two—THREE!” She snapped her fingers.
The next half hour was unlike any he had ever spent before. His mind was at once completely empty and completely focused. He was doing chores he really didn’t enjoy—emptying and refilling the dishwasher, sweeping the kitchen, taking out garbage, tidying papers, putting clothes away. But he liked doing it, he was grateful for the chance to do it. It was sexy to obey, and anyway he knew he couldn’t disobey if he wanted to, and that was even sexier, and knowing it was sexy made it sexier yet until he felt himself being drawn into an endless spiral, deeper.
Finally he heard her voice, as if from a vast distance: “Good job, Louis. Now come over here and stand at attention.” She had undressed; instead of her working clothes, she now had on one of his button-down cotton shirts and heels and nothing else. She looked good.
“Sit down,” she said, pointing at a place on the couch next to her.
He sat.
“Now,” she said. “I need to ask you some questions, and I need you to tell me the truth,” she said.
“Yes, Elle,” I said.
“Of course you say that. But I’ve learned that its better to speak directly to the unconscious. So listen carefully.” She leaned over and touched the index finger of his right hand. “This finger means ‘yes,’” she said. “Show me you understand. Let it come up.”
The finger raised on its own.
She touched the left index finger. “This means ‘no,’” she said. “Did you misunderstand?”
The left finger rose on its own.
“All right, Louis, good boy. Now, listen carefully. I like you. Would you like to be my new toy?”
Right finger.
“Are you willing to obey my orders?”
Right finger.
“Can you obey without thought or hesitation?”
Right finger.
“Will you go into trance instantly when I command it?”
Right finger.
“Do you understand that your job is to serve me, guard me, and please me?”
Right finger.
“Do you understand that you don’t matter, that I am the one who matters?”
Right finger.
“Will you resist?”
Left finger.
“Do you have any hesitations or worries about becoming my new toy?”
Left finger.
“I’m impressed,” she said. “I think we are going to have some fun. Louis, when I snap, you will get up and go into the bedroom, take off your clothes and get into bed. Understand?”
Right finger.
He came to himself in bed, naked, with her looking down at him as if from a great height. “Look at me,” she said. “Notice that I am tying your hands over your head, notice the ropes, notice that you can’t bring them down no matter how you try.”
He didn’t know where the ropes had come from, but they were impossible to break.
“Now look at a spot on the ceiling,” she said. “You are completely open to my suggestions and my control.I am going to mark you as mine.”
He’d never felt more helpless in his life. It wasn’t a bad feeling. Scary, but not bad.
“What’s my name?” she asked from somewhere near his mid-section.
“Elle,” she said.
“Who do you obey?”
“Elle.”
“Who matters?”
“Elle”
“Again! Keep it up!”
“Elle . . . Elle . . . El—oh, God!”
He felt her take him into her mouth. Her mouth moved up and down and then stopped. “I said ‘keep it up!’”
“Elle! . . . Elle! . . . Elle!”
“Come now!” she said, and he exploded, screaming “ELLE!”
“You belong to me,” she said. “Remember, I am stronger than you are, Louis.”
His hand were over his head, but he felt his right finger rising.