Elevator Love_Closure part 4a
By Tralla
It's morning. Jiro left hours ago and the blonde has been on the phone since his departure. In those hours, I've taken up a series of strategic positions. I've been lurking about, tracking the blonde's movements from a distance. He just left the bedroom. Apparently, he's finished with his phone calls because he’s streaking with a towel clutched in his hand. Everything about him looks tense. Even his buttocks are clenched. Two minutes after his disappearance, I hear the shower going. Twenty minutes later, I'm watching his return trek. He looks less tense but, mentally, he's not together. He didn't use his towel. He's drenched and it's dragging on the floor behind him, through the shallow puddles his feet left behind.
When I see him again, he's dressed for work and standing just a few feet from me. I'm seated in the living room and now he's addressing me for the first time since before his mid night meeting with Jiro.
His tone is self-possessed but I don't trust it as he begins, "It's better to fill you in rather than to have you wonder. I need a week to tie up all loose ends here. I've spoken with Dorothy, at length. She will try to keep Raberba at her estate until I arrive." He approaches until he's standing over me, but he isn't saying anything. But I know what he's thinking. It's on his face.
The word "liar" is there and it's meant for me.
Finally, he says, "Is there anything else I've forgotten that I should know about?"
"It's impossible for me to know everything you should remember."
"That's a good response, Heero. It would have been more convincing with eye contact." He moves away. He's leaving the room as he says, "One more thing…Jiro will be staying with us."
I watch him go. My luck, whatever I've had for the past few months, has officially ended.
I've had little interaction with the blonde. I've opted out of working at home. I leave the house early and return late. When I do run into him, he's usually horizontal. We're each too stubborn to give up claim to the bed and sleep elsewhere. Every night has been the same. There's no movement from either of us during the course of the night, and it's making him edgy and me testy. My patience is thinner than usual.
After only three days in the office, I've realized one thing: I can't be a drone in a cubicle. I've moved past the point of assimilation. I've been spoiled by having my own space and using my own equipment. The thought was an inkling after the first day and now it's a reality: my name and the words "desk jockey" will never be used in the same sentence again. I left work at lunch and have no intention of haunting any 3rd rate, employer-provided workspace again.
I'm out of my car and in front of the house. I unlock the door, open it, pocket my keys, walk in, and close the door behind me. It isn't long before I have a reason to stop in my tracks.
I look around. Furniture has been repositioned, everything looks polished, the rugs look like they've been dry cleaned, and the house smells like citrus. I know who is responsible. I've seen the culprit in action. Jiro isn't just dead weight around here. But he's not filling in as a temp maid to be helpful. He's simply keeping himself in the blonde's good graces. His wages are the blonde's caresses. I haven't witnessed them, but I know what's going on when I'm not around. There's a sudden pang followed by a long, low growl. I'm distracted. For now, my empty stomach has my attention.
My trek to the kitchen isn't uneventful. Jiro is in my path, holding a broom. We're caught in a staring match. I want him gone. He probably wants me dead. We're satisfied by our malignant thoughts and return to our respective business. He moves to the side and I accomplish the final leg of my journey.
I made it to my destination and it only takes a minute to pile things on a plate and grab a glass of milk. I park myself at the table. I'm halfway through my meal when I hear footsteps entering the kitchen. I was wrong when I'd thought dealing with him was over. He'd waited for me to turn my back to ditch his broom.
After making sure there's no weaponry in his hands, I go back to my food. He's watching me eat. He's simply waiting for me to finish. I'm waiting for him to disappear. There's nothing left to chew and swallow. He wins.
I don't look his way. "What do you want?"
"Information about Quatre."
He takes my silence and vacant stare as permission.
"Do you hear praises when he touches you?"
I look back at him. I'm well aware that he shouldn't have any interest in taking drugs, yet he's posing questions as though he has been. "It's not the same feedback system."
"That's not what I meant."
"Not praise. I get flattery."
"How often?"
"Not often."
"You've been cheated doubly then."
He's finished with our interchange and turns around. He's out of sight and I turn back to my empty plate. I have to be careful with him. He knows how to toy with people and does it with chilling gravity.
Instead of engaging in avoidant behavior, I should have been vigilant. I should have been watching them. It's a lapse in judgment that I'm now correcting. I accept my current situation and what my past behavior has already shown: there's a part of me that seems bent towards grade D espionage. And I've come to accept one self-serving notion: there's nothing wrong with giving into what is natural.
The blonde arrived home an hour ago. It's night and I'm outside using darkness and shrubbery to cloak my presence as I look in on his study. He's in there at his desk sitting in front of his laptop. And, while I can't see Jiro, I know he's also in there. After working all day as the blonde's housewife, he's going to want some attention.
Just after a few minutes of listening, I can now say that I could be wrong about their private moments of physical reward. Occasionally, the blonde lets his true colors show, and now Jiro is getting a taste of the monster I've dealt with. Having my countenance is not working to his benefit. He's getting bullied in a quasi intellectual fashion.
"In terms of years, you're a child," remarks the blonde. "If you had to pinpoint a stage…where would you be developmentally?"
"Why are you asking this?"
"Why did you respond with a question?"
"Because you weren't seeking an answer."
The blonde is silent for a moment. "You've come far in the last five months. Is your time with Raberba the reason?"
He's asking questions like a jealous lover. But he's not the only one.
"Has your time with Heero made you short-tempered?"
"Perhaps." There's a 10 second lull. "But it's difficult to be easygoing when you're being spied on."
Either I'm sloppier than I thought, or he'll always be superior in tracking my whereabouts.
Jiro flew back to the braid to discuss the current circumstances in person. He didn't leave voluntarily. His departure was suggested by the blonde. Undoubtedly, dealing with two of me was wearing on him and, with questionable judgment, he sent the more obliging one away. And obliging Jiro was. It took his departure for me to understand his compulsive cleaning: a house that is in perfect order is easier to pack up and abandon. He'd streamlined the process before he was ousted and, for the remainder of the week, I'd watched the blonde finish it off.
Last night was the end of his packing and this morning he'd found me ready to depart with him. I'd given no prior signal of my intentions, but my "last minute" decision to join him was only acknowledged by his acceptance of my presence. Traveling together didn't change our interactions. It was a mostly silent flight and now it's a silent ride back to his estate, a ride that is almost over.
As the car curves around to the front of the mansion, he finally speaks. He admits that he hadn't expected me to come along. Even though I was spared only one sentence, I'd gotten a wealth of information from his tone. Apparently, my avoidance of the house paired with my open distaste for his droids gave him the impression that I was planning to jump ship, to cut ties in favor of something less troublesome. He hasn't realized the depth of my stubbornness. I've grown accustomed to being by his side. I won't be easily thwarted. And it's this resolve that gives me the cunning to capitalize on his vindictiveness. He allowed me to tag along out of malice. By staying out of his way this past week, I'd cheated him of opportunities to punish me for my dishonesty. I know my value. I'm a necessary possession. It's difficult to be spitefully reserved if no one is greedy for your attention.
We've arrived. The car rolls to a stop and the doors are opened by servants. We exit. The luggage is removed as we walk into the mansion. It's only a matter of seconds before the blonde is approached by a man who is dressed as a chauffeur. There was another car parked ahead of ours. He must be the driver. He and the blonde exchange words, after which the blonde looks back at me and says, "We'll discuss your accommodations as soon as I take care of this." He and the man walk off together. I'm left standing in the foyer with a group of servants.
I look back at them. A few faces look mildly familiar. They seem surprised to see me. There is some gawking and then an attempt at discreet whispering. Then one of them disappears. Apparently, my presence is creating a stir, a minor one. They've calmed down and now I'm being approached by one of them. There is an introduction where my name is extracted. Then that servant and another one from the group pull a vanishing act. Reasons for paranoia are steadily increasing. They're plotting against me.
And now they're sending the most innocent looking of the bunch towards me as two others start taking my luggage away. Her smile is almost timid as she says, "We weren't expecting you. We'll need some time to make your quarters inviting. Would you like to take a walk while you wait?"
Inviting? I look back at her. There shouldn't be a wait. There are more than enough places to stick me. I keep the irritation out of my voice. "Taking me to my destination is enough for now."