The Trilby Complex
She was aware of how he reacted to her, the supervisor of this place. She’d had years of experience of men reacting to her in such a way. Sometimes she even liked it. She’d seen the change come over him the first moment he’d seen her. His jaw had dropped slightly at the sight of her straight black hair. His chest had mysteriously expanded (as he sucked in his belly) at the sight of her sharp green eyes. She didn’t want to know what her lips had done to him.
His hand had been eager to meet hers, and reluctant to leave. He’d so rushed to get the door for her, he’d nearly knocked her over in the process. She wondered if such manners weren’t just a plot to get a better look at her backside. She could practically feel his eyes on her heels, traveling up her thighs, settling on her behind.
The hose and skirt didn’t help matters, she supposed, but there were very few things a woman could do to get an advantage in a man’s world. If it took a short (but professional) skirt and a little makeup, then so be it. Wouldn’t she be crazy not to use all of her assets?
Besides, this way Franklin Thomas would be just a little flustered. Perhaps enough to slip up. She had a story to write. This place was controversial enough on its own, so her job was relatively simple.
“I must say, if all reporters looked like you—”
“That’s very flattering, Mr. Thomas.” She smiled and let her eyes go soft. “Do you mind if I ask how you first came to be employed here?”
“Yes, Miss—”
She waved away his manners with a hand. “Just Julie, thanks.”
“Yes, yes, well . . .”
And he promptly launched into his life story.
About halfway through it, she interrupted. “That should be enough background information, Mr—”
“Franklin,” he grinned sharply, straightening his tie, “if you please.” With his slicked back hair and his bow tie, he looked like a little kid getting shipped off for his first day of school. She didn’t doubt what role she played in this scenario.
“Do you think I could get a look at the facilities now?”
He blinked rapidly, then began to grin, his cheeks ruddy and slick with sweat. He was attracted to her and then some. She didn’t want to know about his plans for her in that long buffet of fantasies he’d run through before bedtime.
Not that it was completely his fault. She was a delicious woman: smooth, full of curves, overtly and unintentionally sexual. She wore the right perfume: the kind that blended with her personal body chemistry to become something much more—the kind of “something much more” which had a way of lingering in the hair and clothes of men. It poked at the wolves inside the gentlemen. She wore the right makeup: accentuating her high cheekbones with the barest touch of rouge; framing her sharp eyes with mascara until they were dripping with sensuality and a hint of mischief; covering her lips with a lipstick so red it lured the eyes of even the most licentious man up and away from her cleavage.
It wasn’t Franklin’s fault if he fell over himself getting to the door before her, or if he rambled on about the Company, about the state law that allowed (some said “encouraged”) their existence. He leapt at every opportunity to defend himself against those who called them a disgrace and a threat to the community.
“Well you have to admit,” Julie offered in what seemed an off-the-cuff remark, “essentially it’s nothing more than prostitution.”
“It’s not prostitution. It’s not!” Franklin caught himself, retrieved a monogrammed kerchief from his pocket and mopped the sweat from his brow.
“Certainly not,” she agreed, eyeing the place with a casual air, as if she were on a pleasant stroll. “But these women don’t have much of a choice once they sign up, do they?”
He hemmed and hawed, and began to flap his lips. “Well now—that is—I don’t think—”
Her eyes were still friendly. She gazed at him with a practiced look of curiosity, as if she were genuinely interested. “I mean, they are brainwashed, aren’t they? Though I understand it’s all legal. I mean, they sign up for it, so—”
“Not brainwashed!” he interjected. “There is a process of conditioning—”
“Could I see where you do that?”
“Where we do what?”
“The brainwa—” She laughed openly at her deliberate error. “I’m sorry. The ‘conditioning’. Where do you do that?”
“Now look . . . if you’re going to write that kind of article than we can just end—”
“Honestly, Franklin,” she said, and put a comforting hand on his arm, “I don’t know what kind of article I’m going to write.”
He was red-faced, and though he did his best not to show it, he was acutely aware of her hand. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she even felt a little tremble run through him. It never ceased to amaze her how susceptible men could be to the slightest—
“Mr. Thomas.”
The two of them jumped at the strange voice.
“Mr. Trilby! I was just, ah, showing our guest around. She—”
Trilby glared at Franklin, pushing past him as if he were a ghost. He locked eyes with Julie and smiled. His hand was in hers before she even knew she’d offered it.
He was breathtakingly handsome, and most likely used to beautiful women, and while not immune to her charms, certainly more resistant.
‘The party’s over,’ she thought. ‘Now I’m going to have to work for my supper.’
He explained the facility, answered her questions (even the loaded ones) with ease. He was charming and had all the right answers. Damn him. She couldn’t seem to rattle him. There didn’t seem to be a way to sneak past that cool, professional exterior. He was used to handling the press, and used to handling women. Though, when she felt his discreet gaze travelling the length of her body, she was secretly pleased. He was a man after all.
“I wonder if I could talk with one of the girls.”
“Certainly.”
He walked at a swift pace down the hall, and she did her best to keep up with him. She wondered if he always walked that way, of if he was doing it to annoy her.
“Maybe you could tell me a little about the conditioning?” she suggested. He whipped around a corner, and she hurried to catch up.
“It’s nothing more than a sophisticated process of hypnosis.” He stopped at a hallway, punched in a code on a lit keypad attached to the wall, fished around in his pocket for a key, and unlocked a set of double doors. It reminded her of hospital doors. “We are very serious about security. These women are in our custody and I would hold myself personally responsible if something were to happen. The men that come to us maybe wealthy, but they are men, and not above breaking a few rules if they think they can get away with it.”
“That’s good to hear, since they really can’t defend themselves.” It was a jab, and they both knew it.
He ushered her through the doors and stopped long enough to make sure the green “armed” light appeared on the system. He even rattled the doorknob to make sure the doors had locked behind him. “Why do you say that?”
“Well, they’ve had their wills stripped—”
“Not at all. They’re the same people they were before they signed on. However, I can see that you have an agenda, so I won’t waste my time trying to convince you.”
He approached a large desk manned by an attendant and punched a few numbers into a computer. The attendant was too busy watching an array of television screens to pay them any attention. She saw a large of variety of sexual acts taking place on those screens and wondered if any of the clients knew their privacy was being undermined.
What she wanted to ask was, “Then why continue with the interview?” What she said instead was, “Not at all, Mr. Trilby. I’m asking questions that I have to ask. These are the same questions you addressed before the Supreme Court, and that were asked of you by the people of this state and your very own commun—”
“Hm, I think Sindy is available.”
She made a mental note to ask him about the TV screens.
Sindy was pretty enough. Her long brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She brushed a loose strand or two away from her eyes, which were pretty enough by themselves: blue, sparkling with intelligence and good humor. She smiled wide when she saw Trilby. They embraced and shared a short kiss. Arm in arm, like two best pals, he turned her to Julie and introduced her.
“Sindy has been with us for about six months.”
Sindy put out her hand. Julie took it, not surprised by the softness of her skin, but a little surprised at the shortness of her nails. She expected something more “stripper-like”. Sindy disappointed her by being normal. She was even a little tomboyish.
“Hi, Julie.”
“Hello.” She was trying to remember just one of the long list questions she’d memorized on the drive over.
“You can ask her whatever you like. I’ll even leave for awhile so you two can have some privacy,” Trilby said and gave Sindy a quick poke in the ribs.
Sindy jumped and giggled, swiping at him with a small fist. He dodged it, laughing.
“Privacy? Here?” Julie interrupted sarcastically and searched every corner for the camera.
They both gave her a blank look, then Trilby nodded with understanding. “Oh, I see. No, those rooms are the performance rooms. These are private quarters for the girls to use off duty.”
“But the ‘performance rooms’ are close by,” Julie said.
“By necessity.”
“Well, actually, though I do want to interview Miss—”
“Just Sindy, thanks.”
“I’d like to interview Sindy, but I was hoping to see some of the conditioning process first. Maybe I could ease some people’s anxiety about this place, then maybe I could see a ‘performance’, as you put it.”
Trilby looked uneasy. “I’m afraid I have to refuse both requests. I’m terribly sorry. The process is a trade secret, and the rooms are off limits to all personnel.”
“Well, perhaps just through a camera then,” she tried.
“No, I’m afraid not. We must respect the privacy of our clients as well.”
Julie grinned. She had him. “It’s not off limits to the personnel manning the cameras though, is it?”
“Those employees have also gone through a conditioning process designed to help them forget everything they’ve seen. It’s part of the job. They go through more conditioning than our ‘performers’ actually. It’s imperative.”
Her grin faded abruptly. She sighed deeply and turned to Sindy with a forced smile. “So . . . how do you like it here?”
Sindy shared a slightly confused smile with Trilby. “Well, I like the arrangements, if that’s what you mean. I don’t remember anything of the actual performances or the clients.”
Julie gave her a doubtful look. “Nothing?”
Sindy searched her memory. Trilby looked on with interest, knowing what would happen if she happened to remember even the slightest detail. She’d be put through the process all over again.
When she shook her head, Trilby let out a little sigh of relief. “I can’t remember anything about anything that I’ve ever done in a performance.”
Julie nodded. “Just so I understand, a ‘performance’ is in fact a sexual act, right?”
Sindy shrugged. “In most cases probably.”
“A performance,” Trilby provided, “is usually a sexual act. Sometimes it is role play, or pandering to the fetish of a particular client. It could be something as simple as stripping. The only requests we refuse are the kind that might bring injury to our performers.”
“I see.” Julie acknowledged him then turned again to Sindy. “What made you decide to work here?”
“The money.” A short and simple answer, and brutally honest. People had done more bizarre things for money. “I have a child and frankly it was hard to make ends meet. One year here, and my little boy and I are set for a very long time.”
“How much exactly?” Julie asked.
Sindy blushed. “You wouldn’t believe it.”
“Try me,” Julie challenged.
Trilby frowned. “The girls are encouraged to keep that to themselves.”
“Encouraged or conditioned?”
The restraint was clear on his face. “They are free to provide any such information they wish. But financial issues are rather a private matter between them and us. However, if it will appease your endless curiosity, the girls generate an impressive amount of revenue. It would only be criminal if we didn’t share it with them.”
Julie nodded, and bit her tongue. There were a number of follow up questions she wanted to ask, but this wasn’t the time. She changed the subject. “Can you tell me anything about the conditioning?”
He considered it, glancing at Sindy. There was some silent communication between them. Finally, he asked her. “Would you mind?”
Sindy shrugged. “As long as it shows up on my time sheet.”
Trilby laughed. “Of course.”
Julie looked on in wonder.
“Well,” Trilby said and smiled, “how would you like a demonstration?”
Julie’s gaze shifted between Sindy and him. “Now?”
“Certainly.”
She nodded.
Trilby made a quick phone call. “They’re putting you on the roster for five minutes,” he told Sindy.
“Starting when?” she asked, blushing from head to toe. She’d experienced the shift a thousand times, but never in front of a civilian woman. Julie was not an employee here; that made her a civilian.
Trilby glanced at his watch. “I’d say in about a minute from now.”
“So, what’s going to happen again?” Julie chimed, aware of the nervous tremor in her voice. The room seemed to swell with tension all of a sudden.
Trilby explained. “Well, each girl as a small implant.” He looked at Sindy who promptly turned and showed Julie a little dark mole behind her right ear. “It gives them a small electric shock. Very small. Just enough to tingle. They’ve been conditioned to switch to their performer personality when they feel this.”
Julie felt her breath catch in her throat and had to clear it with a cough. This was the first real evidence that the stories were true: there was real brainwashing going on here, and she was about to witness it first hand.
“It doesn’t hurt,” Sindy explained. “It’s just right under the skin and you’re out when they do it.”
“I see,” Julie said quietly.
There was no noise. Julie would’ve preferred a “zzzt!” sound, or some sort of warning. Instead, Sindy inhaled sharply, filling her lungs, and gasped “Ohhhh. . . .” Her body stiffened. Her fingers and toes curled. Her back arched involuntarily. The sudden intense pleasure she was feeling was palpable. Her eyes closed. Her lips parted. Her arms wrapped around her body. Her head lulled back, then fell forward.
Finally, she took a long, deep breath and opened her eyes. Julie could see the change at once, though it was hard to tell how exactly. If it had been just one thing, but it was a lot of little things: the slight shift in her hips; the tilt of her head; the way she readjusted her stance, one leg slipping ahead of the other, shifting her hips further.
She hadn’t changed clothes, hadn’t put on any makeup, but she had instantly been transformed from a tomboy to an erotic, powerful, sexy woman. Julie marveled at the change. She was so stunned by it she felt paralyzed.
There was an almost imperceptible grin on Sindy’s face, sensual and somehow ‘knowing’, making Julie feel utterly transparent. Her eyelids were half closed, eyes full of glitter. Her movements were slow and languid, and she was moving towards Julie even now. Julie was so stunned, so captivated, she forgot to back away. It was like looking at a perfectly serene pond; she didn’t want to break the peace.
She realized Sindy was speaking to her, and had to concentrate to really hear her. It was soft, not quite a whisper, breathy and low, the tone you used to soothe a baby.
“Oh my, look at you, you are beautiful.” Sindy laughed, and it was like a trickle of cool water from her throat, so pleasant, perfectly enchanting.
Julie realized that Sindy was right before her now, eye to eye, never dropping her gaze for an instant. She had a sudden panic that she was being hypnotized, that somehow this was the part of the brainwashing.
Sindy’s gaze was enveloping her face, taking in her hair and ears, smiling with twinkling eyes at her choice of earrings: small, fake diamond studs. Her fingers were on Julie’s cheeks, noting with some pleasure the instant response, the hot blush.
Julie swallowed, and swallowed again, trying to catch her breath. She’d never had a lesbian impulse in her life, and she didn’t now, but it was just so hard to tear herself away.
Sindy searched her eyes. “You know that too, don’t you? You’re aware of your beauty and,” she laughed again with that cool trickle that pricked Julie’s skin with goose-pimples, “and you know how to use it.”
The tip of Sindy’s fingers ran down the lines of her face, slipping down her cheekbones to the corners of her mouth. Julie felt the soft touch tracing the pattern of her lips, so soft it tickled. She licked them reflexively, swallowing again, wondering why her tongue felt like sandpaper. Great, now she stood before this woman, absolutely captivated, with wet lips.
“You seem so sharp,” Sindy whispered.
Julie felt herself being drawn into an embrace, warmed by it, and she thought she should pull away, but it was so tender, so comforting she couldn’t help but allow it. This was “sister”, this was “best friend”, someone she longed to trust, longed to love and believe in, longed to give herself to, such longing. . . .
“Sharp hair,” Sindy said, with a tone that was like a song, a lullaby, “sharp eyes.”
Julie felt the light touch of Sindy’s lips on her forehead. She felt overwhelmed, like a loaf of bread baking in an oven, all hot and fresh with her insides full of sugar and melting butter. She closed her eyes and felt Sindy kiss her closed lids. There was a sudden wave of emotion washing over her, making her want to sob, to laugh giddily, to run.
“Such a sharp soul.” Every syllable was so clear. Julie could hear every wet click of Sindy’s tongue. She was waiting for Sindy’s lips. Her mouth was waiting for—
“Sindy,” came Trilby’s voice, “It’s just about time, hon.”
Julie felt herself screaming, ‘not yet!’
Sindy was gone for an eternity before Julie felt the warmth fading. She opened her eyes and watched Sindy’s easy, feline saunter. She even felt a tinge of jealousy as Sindy stood before Trilby and folded herself into his arms.
Julie was a storm in progress, whipping the door open, raging down the hall, past the security desk with all the cameras, stopped only by the last barricade, the locked double doors. Trilby followed, sensing her fury. When he was close enough, she turned on him, feeling like a feral animal, trapped and vicious.
“You son of a bitch!” She wanted to slap him. It was all she could do to restrain herself.
“I don’t understand,” he replied confused.
“You set me up,” she accused with a snarl.
“In what way?” He blinked, crossed his arms, and studied her with an attentive expression.
The fire simmered in her eyes as she whispered, “You knew she would do that.”
He whispered back. “I had no idea.”
She turned beet red and retreated.
“Honestly, Julie, I had no idea she would kiss you.”
Julie moved to the locked doors, tried them with a forceful shove. They didn’t budge. “She didn’t kiss me.”
“Oh,” he replied, even more confused, “well from my angle, it looked like—”
“She kissed my forehead and my. . . . Look, it doesn’t matter. Let me out.”
He moved to the keypad and released the door.
‘I will get something. I will get something.’ It was this that played like a mantra in her mind. While her editor raged, she revisited her memory of the entire interview with Trilby and his “performers”. What did she get? Nothing of the conditioning process, which was what she needed most.
The editor took a breath between tirades. They were the usual. She’d heard it all before. “. . . disappointed in you, expected more, how about something we can run. . . .” They all came from a script that he relied on for just such occasions.
He was two sentences into tirade #2 before she stumbled upon an answer. “What do you thinking we’re running here? A day care? It’s a goddamn newspaper. We’re trying to make some money here. Money doesn’t grow on trees, and it doesn’t come from subscriptions. It comes from—”
She uncrossed her legs, displaying their length, understanding how the bright light shone on them, reflecting, illuminating their smoothness, highlighting her shapely calves.
He glanced down at her. “—from . . . from, uh, advertisers! And for advertisers we need something that’s going to bring—”
She recrossed her legs, right over left this time, and took a moment to smooth her skirt down over her thigh. His eyes were drawn to her. She did this all from instinct, though she was fully aware of what it did to poor Phil.
He turned to her and stared. It was desire to be certain, but he was a seasoned editor, and he knew well how to cover himself. His expression did not waver. It was as stern as a father’s.
He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter her word she placed a finger to her lips, leaned over in her chair, and let out a long “hmmmm”. It stopped him cold. She was like a stretching panther with her black skirt slipping up her thighs and her suit jacket hanging open at the single button. She revealed nothing, but since when did men need to see actual skin to be completely captivated?
“What?” Phil asked softly, almost involuntarily.
“If you can’t beat them. . . .” She looked up at him and grinned wickedly.
Was it his imagination or had time just slowed? Had the blinking of her eyelids slowed to half-speed, the lashes intertwining for a fraction of a second before they separated and revealed the depths of green? Did her lips take forever to close? Did the rising and falling of her breasts, concealed beneath that meddling jacket, take much too long? Or was he just staring at her with open lust?
If she had been aware of such things, she would’ve noticed Phil turn his back to her; she would’ve noticed the strange step he took, the strange movement of his hand as he adjusted himself.
He sat behind his desk and leaned over it, trying to reassert his authority. “I can see you have an idea, Julie. So. . . .”
She stood and paced before his desk. His eyes moved with her. She was like a wild animal trapped in a sensual female body. He wondered how she could move like that, so naturally arousing, so—
She leaned over his desk. “Join them. I could join them.”
Somewhere in the dim, primitive part of his mind he thought, ‘If I stand up now, I might accidentally see down her blouse.’ He was not aware of it, but he found his legs jerk beneath him, and before he knew it, he was on his feet.
“They’d never hire you,” he told her. He was tall enough that she had to look up at him, and this pleased him secretly.
“Not as an employee,” she suggested, “as a performer.”
His face turned one shade pale. He caught his jaw before it dropped. “What in the hell are you telling me?”
She laughed, unaware of the effect her breath on his face would have. “It’s the best for all parties, Phil. You get your story from a reporter on the inside. And I do mean inside. You can’t get anymore inside than this! Is that a story the public will react to? Is that a story that will bring in the advertisers?”
He did not love her. He loved his wife. Truly. But Julie was one of those girls that trampled on men’s hearts without ever knowing they’d even been cast down before her. “I can’t let you do that.”
“Phil,” she grinned, and this time her action was purposeful. She reached out and took his tie in her hand, letting its soft silk glide over her palm. “Phil,” she laughed, “it’s my sacrifice not yours. Besides, this is just what I’ve been looking for. The paper publishes my articles over the next couple of months, and after it’s all done, I can collect them and sell them to a publisher. You get your story, not just one, but lots of them, every week for maybe six months or more. I get a book deal. See?”
He felt like she had him on a leash. Her tone was soothing, melodic. He might’ve been a little boy in a classroom with a lovely teacher explaining the facts of life.
But the thought of her in that place. . . . For a moment, a quick one, he regretted being married. If he were single, he could visit the Trilby complex and. . . .
He sat back in his chair, unable to hide a slight smile. “How can I say no?”
‘You never could say no to me, Phil.’ Though there was a part of her that wished he had.
“You want to what?” Trilby wondered with a start.
Finally, she felt she had him. Off guard, off balanced. But it took a leap of this magnitude to achieve it. She grinned, sucked on her bottom lip for a moment, wetting it unconsciously, and offered her proposal.
“What’ve you got to lose? You’re looking for some acceptance, maybe even some approval from the community. I can give you that. You can’t say no to this.”
“Yes, I can,” he refuted, and there was a hardness to his expression, a sharpness to his glare. He tapped his own chest with a finger. “I don’t need anyone’s acceptance or approval.”
She looked at him inquisitively. One day he would learn this look was her most deadly. “There are still laws in this state, Mr. Trilby.”
He laughed. “There’s no law that can force me to hire you.”
“I can sue you for discrimination.”
He shook his head with astonishment. “How is this discrimination? You want to reveal the method of my technique to the world. You want to take my livelihood away. Before the end of the year there would be a hundred of these complexes, and might I add run by men not as reputable as myself. Who knows how they might pervert things? Who knows what they might do to these poor wom—”
“I won’t reveal that part of your business,” she told him. The heat was beneath her skin, making her face hot, her breath short. He’d gotten to her. He had a good point. She did want to know about the conditioning process, not necessarily expose it, but at least understand it so she could describe at least part of it to her readers.
He leaned forward on the desk, driving a finger into its surface. “How would it be discrimination? How?”
“It’s well known you’ll hire just about any beautiful woman that walks through that door. Unless, I’m not beautiful enough, that is.”
He blinked. “No, you’re—you’re certainly—you meet our requirements.”
“Then you’re discriminating against me.”
He thought about it, and the weight of it seemed to tire him. He sank back into his chair. His gaze wandered for a moment, then focused on her face again. And with this, his entire being seemed to focus. His posture straightened, his face cooled, eyes softened. “You’d never win.”
She laughed in a delightfully condescending way. “I never said I’d win the suit, Mr. Trilby.”
He blinked with confusion, but understanding began to fill him. It slipped into his body, landed in his eyes, lifted his chin into a half-nod.
She could see she didn’t have to explain. Still, it never hurt to drive the point home. “It’ll cost you quite a bit of money, not to mention—”
“The wonderful press I’d receive, and with your connections—” he finished, and let the point drop.
There was at least a part of her (somewhere) that felt guilty about her manipulation. She didn’t let that part show, however. He might think she was an ice queen, but with men and business, it was better to be a bitch than weak. They might hate you, but at least they’d respect you. And if they were attracted to you, well . . . that just spiced things up.
There was that glint of respect, perhaps even amusement in his eyes now. He didn’t like it, maybe he even loathed her, but it was a good play on her behalf. “You’re a real troublemaker.”
There was not a hint of a smile on his face, but no malice either. She wasn’t sure how he felt about the whole deal, but she wasn’t there to feel sorry for a billionaire. “Only when people force me to be, Mr. Trilby.”
He let the moment hang between them, let it stretch out until she couldn’t stand it anymore. Just when she was about to break the silence, he spoke. Then she understood he’d been playing with her. He’d already made up his mind, but why not have a little fun with her first? It made her feel foolish and naive. “When were you thinking of moving in?”
She did not appreciate his smile. “As soon as possible.”
“I have something for you to sign. And you should make arrangements. You will live here, there’s no getting around that. It’s for your safety.”
“Well, the arrangements are made so. . . .”
The lights had dimmed.
“Are you ready?”
She gulped. “N-now? I mean right now?”
“Have you ever been hypnotized, Julie?”
“No,” she admitted shakily. “I’m not sure I can—”
“You can.”
The temperature seemed to have warmed. It was causing a blush in her cheeks, or perhaps it was the other way around.
“Why don’t you close your eyes, Julie?”
She glanced at him, worried. “Is this—”
“Relax, this isn’t the process. This is just preparation.”
She wasn’t sure whether to be comforted by that or not. “What do you do with people you can’t hypnotize?” She was beginning to hate the reedy, tinny sound of her own voice. She was beginning to wonder how truly strong she was.
“You know,” he smiled, “it’s never come up.”
She seemed to have fallen into a pattern of swallowing, licking her lips, and swallowing again. Realizing she was staring off into the distance, she closed her eyes, determined to somehow remember it all.
There was the sound of a switch, followed by a strange vibration. At first she thought the chair was one of those massage chairs, but the vibraion was too low, too . . . deep. It immediately got under her skin, made her twitch and shift uncomfortably.
“Just relax, Julie.”
She felt her hand being taken, and oddly, the warmth of his touch seemed to almost overwhelm her. She couldn’t hear the vibration, but felt it was still there. It was if her pores were huge and too sensitive to heat, too responsive to his tender offering. It wasn’t a vibration at all, she realized, but a sound, an extremely low sound, too low to hear.
“Just relax, Julie.” His voice seemed to echo away from her in ever quickening ripples. “Feel the heat of my skin on yours. Let it seep into your fingers, into your palm, up into your wrist.”
He droned on.
“ . . . into your shoulder, down into your chest, warming and relaxing everything it touches. . . .”
She occasionally forgot his voice. She’d feel her attention diverted by the constant sound, that vibration that wouldn’t let her go, or by the movement of his hand, or the soft whisper of his suit as he shifted position. She became aware of the immense size of the chair and how it seemed to cup her, to envelop her like a womb.
“ . . . filling up your hips and the muscles of your abdomen with warmth, soothing, relaxing warmth . . . let go, Julie.”
His voice had become slightly distant for a moment. She wondered idly if he’d left her, but his hand was still under her’s. Wasn’t it? It was hard for her to feel her body. She hadn’t moved for a long time and it seemed to have fallen asleep.
“ . . . down into your toes, warming them, ever warming, ever relaxing, soothing them even as your entire body releases the rest of its attention, all those little muscles releasing their tension, the tiny muscles of your face, relaxing, the small muscles in your hands, relaxing. . . .”
Eternity made its appearance and began to stretch out before her. She could feel herself, not her physical self, but her other self, her conscious self, drifting away, actually moving out into the distance, like a ship into an inky black sea. Moments became timeless now.
She had no awareness of his voice, or of the extra low frequency, or of his touch, or of her skin warming. There was a flicker of awarness as she opened her eyes, as her lips moved. This “flicker” was surprised she could open her eyes, and equally surprised that her lips hadn’t slid down into her lap. The skin of her face was so heavy.
His voice seemed to come out of the distance, seemed to penetrate her without her understanding. " . . . as your eyes open, you can remain deep, deep, deeply asleep. . . .”
The flicker faded.
When it returned she found she was walking, almost stumbling, eyes leaden, half open, mouth hanging open, feeling so impossibly heavy. Down a hallway with someone holding her arm, guiding her, helping her remain on her feet. She thought it was Trilby.
“ . . . you sit, you can fall back into the abyss, back down into the comfortable depths of bliss, back down, down, down. . . .” Echoing forever, fading, growing smaller.
Then she was sitting and being laid back. And as he’d said, she let go and fell asleep again.
There was the sound of a piano. A single note being played again and again. She was hallucinating vividly. Strange visions. Images of a woman who looked very much like her but with a very different personality. There were things there, implanted in the woman’s mind like roots, but the rest was being filled in slowly, and Julie perceived that it was she was doing the filling in. She was writing the woman’s personality, at least in part.
She could name her.
There was a voice addressing her. Julie was aware she’d been speaking, relating memories from birth to the present. She’d become stuck at the age twelve. She couldn’t seem to pass it, and the voice wanted to know why.
All at once she burst into tears.
The voice insisted. It was okay. It was Trilby. He was holding a feather. It was white and long and he was going to drop it. He was dropping it. It was dropping. It was taking a long time to reach the grass. As it floated down she saw a scene flash before her eyes. It landed.
“Because he didn’t fight for me,” she cried.
“It’s okay, Julie. He loved you. He loved you so much. He knew you’d be better off with your mother. It wasn’t your fault.”
“He should’ve fought for me.”
“He did. But not where you could hear it. He fought for you, Julie. You’re in your room again. You can hear the mumbled voices become clear. Your father is fighting for you, but your mother and he agree what’s best for you . . . is . . . to . . . . . . stay—”
Her eyes opened. There was that low sound, and a warm ocean-blue light. She was elated. Rich with happiness, relieved of a secret pain she’d carried with her. At this moment, she felt she’d do anything asked of her. It was wonderful.
“Cassie.”
There was a sharp sensation behind her ear.
She blinked and gazed curiously up at Trilby. He snapped his fingers before her eyes and said, “Sleep.”
She felt her body fall away.
She stirred, rolled around in bed, then remembered where she was. She opened her eyes and saw she was alone. How long had she been out? Felt like days.
There was a knock at the door.
She saw a robe on a nearby chair and fetched it.
Tugging it closed, she was not surprised to see Trilby at the door. She opened it wide and he entered without a word.
“So,” he asked as he found a chair, “what do you remember?”
“Not much. I hoped I would remember more.”
He grunted.
“I guess,” she continued, “it’s no secret that I wanted to know how it was done, to stay awake for it.”
“Why do you say that?”
She plopped down on the bed, grabbed a pillow to hug, and said, “I feel like I just laid out my entire mind out for you to see.”
He nodded.
She wiped away a tear before it could flow. “Thank you for that lie about my father. I know it wasn’t true, but—”
“It wasn’t intended to fool you,” he interjected.
“—but it felt so good. It was so good to believe. I felt so—so relieved and like I could love him again.” She inhaled and tried to ease the tears away.
“Julie, it wasn’t something we did special. That’s part of the technique.”
She laughed. “Curing my neuroses is part of your technique?”
“It is the technique. That and creating MPD.”
“Multiple Personality Disorder?”
“Yes.”
“You gave me—I mean you created—”
“You now have two separate distinct personalities living in you. One is Julie, the primary personality, the first and most central. Do you know the name of the other?”
She started to say no, but said, “Cassie,” instead. It shocked her. How could she have known. . . . Because it was the name she picked out.
“We’ve been using our technique to cure MPD for some time now. It was my technique as a therapist. This was after my work for the government. I trained messengers. But that’s another story.”
“I can’t feel her. I mean, I don’t really have any . . . sense—” Her hand had gone to her right ear involuntarily at just the thought of Cassie. Behind it, she found a small hard spot that was unfamiliar. She needed a mirror.
“Yes, it’s there. Like a little brown mole. It will trigger a small tingling sensation, then Cassie takes over.”
“Does she know about me? I mean, can she feel what I’m thinking?”
Trilby shook his head. “And you will have no memory of her actions until you’re ready to leave. Then you have the option of remembering her, or letting her go.”
Julie sat on the bed, running her finger back and forth over the implant. She was still uncertain she believed any of this. She’d seen direct evidence that the technique was real and worked miracles, but with virtually no memory of it herself, it was hard to believe anyone had done anything to her.
“God, you’re beautiful,” Trilby said suddenly.
Her eyes snapped to him. He was blushing, straightening his tie. She became acutely aware of his pressed suit, his clean shaven face, his good masculine smell, his polished shoes and general GQ perfection. It was a direct contradiction to herself, eyes fresh with crusty sleep, face a little swollen from the bed, hair all over the place. She wrapped the robe tighter around her neck, stuck a hand into her hair. “I’m a mess.”
“When?” she asked.
“You’ll start out as one of the cheaper performers for the newbies.”
“Cheap?” She didn’t like the sound of that.
“Mostly college men. Our regular clients have different needs. They pay higher for the more experienced performers.”
“Great. Cheap.”
“As you gain experience, your pay will go up. I imagine you will make an obscene amount of money, Julie. If you care about that kind of thing.”
She didn’t want to feel complimented by that, but she did. “What makes you say that?”
He leveled his gaze at her. “You have been using your beauty and sensuality to manipulate men for years, but only to give you an edge, to help level the playing field. Imagine what will happen when you use it for the mere sake of manipulating them, when that becomes your single goal.”
“I don’t do it that much,” she refuted. “I work very hard.”
“You do it more than you know. Much of it is unconscious.” He paused, then added, “I don’t doubt that you’ve worked for everything you have.”
She nodded. “Well, actually, I meant . . . when does Cassie come out for the first time.”
Trilby jerked his left arm out, stretched it to pull back the cuff, then twisted his wrist to check his watch. His grin began in his eyes. You couldn’t plan timing like that. “Right about now actually.”
There was a little tingle starting at her fingertips then crawling over her entire body. She was surprised; she expected it to start at her ear.
Then, like being dropped into melting wax, she broke out in a sudden sweat and felt warm and gooey all over. Her head reeled, making her dizzy, and a sudden rush of pure pleasure ran simultaenously up from her toes and down from the crown of her head. Up into her pelvis, causing her to squirm uncontrollably, and down over her breasts and stomach, making her back arch with a powerful tense shudder.
“Oh. GOD!”
It was like diving to the bottom of a deep swimming pond, down into the murky darkness, then pushing with her feet to come up, up so her head could break water.
She inhaled sharply, blinked rapidly, and looked around the room. Nothing had changed. She was the same person she’d always been. She wasn’t some sort of zombie, or drugged out whore. She was just her.
“Kind of like being born, isn’t it?” Trilby laughed, always appreciative of the pleasure he knew they were feeling.
She was still getting over the tingles. She laughed and nodded, eyes alive with new vigor. Without another thought she sat herself down in his lap and gave him a quick kiss.
“Now, now, that’s against the rules.”
She shook her head like a little girl, giggling. “The first one isn’t!”
He laughed.
“I need to get showered and dressed,” she said, and he thought she was probably talking to herself.
“Can I watch?”
She ran her hands through his hair, enjoying the thickness of it, the softness. Then, she leaned close to his ear and whispered, “What do you think?”
He chuckled. “I wish I could, but we do have clients.”
She pouted momentarily, but when it didn’t work, she giggled and reluctantly left his lap.
“You have your fist appointment in about an hour. Room 24. We’ll make some introductions later, okay?”
She was out of her clothes and on her way to the shower. “Okay!” she called.
“Have fun, Julie! I’ll check in on you later.”
She stopped in her tracks, shaking her head with bewilderment. Turning, she asked, “Who’s Julie?”