The Resort Pt 05 1

Day Five. Shadow

When I awoke this morning I had no idea how the day was going to turn out. Now, eighteen hours later, I can pronounce it another success. I have a better understanding of how this place works and what life here will be like. The idea of shadowing staff members all day as they went about their jobs had sounded unexciting. But I have discovered, through observation and experience, that even the routine becomes an adventure on Aranea Island.

We decided to eat in after Richard volunteered to make the breakfast. He's actually a good cook, so long as he sticks to the basics. Of course, I got the usual "Sarah, for pity's sake, eat something before you fade away to nothing," which, of course, I ignored. And when we were finished, Rachel, Richard and I got into our uniforms.

We had been given specific instructions on what to wear. For sure, Richard has only the one outfit for all occasions, slacks and shirt; so for male staff it's not a big deal. For Rachel and me the rituals are more elaborate... and one of the delights of living and working on Aranea. I put on my "bikini style A-3" which according to the handbook means the triangle-top slider bra and tie-string bottoms. Rachel wore her halter-top one-piece, although she was instructed bring her bikinis as well, because in each section the women (unlike the men) wear a different style. We were to wear the pink hibiscus sarong, mine as a pāreu and Rachel's as a dress. That meant she had to detach the halter on her costume, because it must be worn strapless with the sarong. Naturally we were directed to wear our collars, bracelets and anklets, and to bring two of our gags. I chose the ball and ball-plug. We packed our gear in a couple of carry bags.

The resort workforce is organized into four sections — supply, maintenance, hospitality and administration. Since we had just a few hours for our orientation, we could not cover everything; and anyhow we're already becoming familiar with day-to-day operations and infrastructure. So today's program was to give us a general overview from the point of view of typical members of the staff. Of course, not every new employee gets this depth of introduction; but my aunt isn't just anyone. And apropos of this, my uncle and I are basically hangers-on (albeit in a nice way). The day's agenda made this clear. Rachel had meetings to attend throughout the day, and I'm guessing the itinerary for the rest of us was designed to keep Richard and me busy and Daniel out of mischief.

My cousin was just along for the ride. He's staying here for eight and a half days. In fact, as far as his presence in the resort is concerned, he's actually superfluous to requirements. But as Grandpa Davis's (so far) youngest and only male descendant, he's become the family's pet project... and my pet peeve. (Okay, not really; he's more a tender spot than a raw nerve.)

We were scheduled to meet Kate outside City Hall. Despite the grandiose name, this is a rather nondescript office building and warehouse located at the western end of the central business district. It was a brisk ten-minute walk away, and this part of the Village, well separated from the cafeterias, restaurants and bars, was almost deserted. Yet even as we arrived a crowd had begun to gather along the roadside. Before too long, there were a couple of hundred people. Some were eating takeaway breakfasts, most were brandishing phones and cameras, all were abuzz with anticipation. Many of the women were bound but there were no blindfolds, a good hint of an imminent spectacle. A few of the bystanders, seeing our uniforms, gave us inquisitive and, in a couple of cases, oddly disapproving looks.

My curiosity was piqued because we weren't aware of any shows being put on at this time of morning. Then a voice called out "They're coming," and all faces turned to the west, towards where the ground rose to conceal from view the distant Oasis. As I watched, figures appeared on the crest of the ridge, and thereafter we were confronted by a truly extraordinary sight. At least a hundred (perhaps a lot more) bikini-and-sarong-clad women were shuffling towards us, strung out in single file. They were ball-gagged and blindfolded, their arms shackled behind their backs, their ankles hobbled. They were tethered to each other by chains linking their collars. Each had a purse or shoulder bag slung around her neck. They were accompanied by about two dozen young men. These were positioned at regular intervals along the line, languidly chanting "Left, right, left, right..." to keep the females in step so they would not, in their sightless state, trip over each other's feet.

When the vanguard of the column reached the small plaza in front of City Hall, the women executed a skilful pivot — I say skilful because they performed the manoeuvre without any obvious prompting from their escort — and formed a row with their backs to the building. After two dozen had done so, one of the men tapped the next girl on the shoulder and she took a position directly behind her predecessor. The next then came to a halt behind the second last girl in the front row, and so on so that as the new rank was formed they could file into their places while still tethered. After twenty-four more, a third row was formed, etcetera. The spectators broke into spontaneous applause, and I was expecting some sort of ceremony; but instead, once all the females were in formation, one of the men released a diminutive woman from her blindfold and gag. He held up a clipboard for her to read (because her arms were still secured behind her). She blinked rapidly a few times to adjust her eyes to the sunlight and moistened her lips. Her assistant raised a hand to summon the other males to gather around her. When they had received their orders of the day, they went along the rows and unhitched a dozen more women, who were brought out to the front. They listened to their instructions, unable to see or speak but nodding acknowledgement. Only after that were they liberated from their cuffs, gags and blindfolds, and amongst them I recognized Kate. They and four or five of the men began freeing the rest of the females.

There appeared to be a particular order in the way they went about this, and it quickly occurred to me that these were section heads getting their teams together. Once the women were released, they stood about chatting until it was time to go, as if this were nothing special... which, I guess, from their perspective was the case.

And so, as the audience dispersed, the workers of Aranea Island went off to their jobs.

When Kate saw us, she smiled and came over, reapplying her lipstick.

"Well, did you like the show?" she asked.

Richard and Daniel grinned. Rachel had a strange look. I'm sure she was thinking that in a couple of days she and I would be part of that show. Kate must have read her expression.

"It's just one of the little rituals we put on for the tourists. Anyway, let's not be late. Daniel..."

His face lit up.

"You're off to school..."

His face darkened.

"I will take you, if that's okay."

His face lit up again. What Kate was referring to, of course, were the classes in all sorts of interesting subjects organized for visitors who don't want to spend their entire time doing mundane touristy things. Daniel had his pick of a range of activities from windsurfing lessons to rainforest exploration. I don't know what he picked, but it did indeed keep him out of mischief. (At least, I never heard otherwise... which is good enough.)

Meanwhile, we'd been approached by a young woman who had been now standing back, waiting to be introduced. She was wearing the bikini-and-mini-pāreu like mine, whereas Kate wore the one-piece like Rachel's, but strapless and with the floral sarong. I can see why the staff handbook has to devote so many pages to our uniform.

"This is Lucinda," Kate informed us. She's aged in her late twenties, with jet-black hair and unnervingly vivid violet eyes. (When she looks at you, you feel the urge to dodge laser beams.)

"Call me Lucy," she said.

"Call me anytime," Daniel replied.

"Call a gastroenterologist," I thought.

Lucy briefly explained our schedule. Then, without further ado, Kate tapped Daniel lightly on the shoulder and began walking away. As he followed, I have no doubt at all that he wanted desperately to put her back in her cuffs but did not have the nerve to ask. She didn't volunteer and I don't know what would have been her response if he had worked up the courage. (I guess she intimidated him, in a way. She's that spectacular.)

While they set off in the direction of the Oasis, Lucy turned to face away from us. I thought she was about to start walking, but she held her position and put her hands behind her back. There were a few seconds of awkward silence before my uncle responded and drew her wrists together to secure them. As he did so, he couldn't hold back a sheepish grin, a glance towards Daniel walking away, and a wink at my aunt, who responded with her customary roll of the eyes. She and I then waited a moment, our arms wavering; but Richard answered with a discreet shake of the head. I think his reluctance arose from me being his niece; but he didn't want me to feel left out, so Rachel went unshackled as well.

I could see that Lucy was rather blasé about being cuffed. I suppose that familiarity really does breed... well, not contempt but a degree of dispassion. Nevertheless, I hope I don't get too apathetic too quickly.

She then ushered us inside the building. The lobby was empty — it was still quite early — except for two receptionists, a male and a female. While there are not a lot of things left here that surprise me, I got a bit of a shock to see that the girl was chained by her collar to the counter. She had just enough freedom to move about in her workspace but not enough to leave it.

Rachel asked the obvious.

The girl smiled and released herself.

"Health and safety regulations always apply," Lucy explained. "We work on the honour system." I took that to mean that you don't let yourself loose except in an emergency. The girl reattached her chain and returned her attention to her paperwork, while her associate dealt with us.

Lucy asked Rachel and me to hand over our bags containing our spare uniform bits. My aunt then, with no further ceremony, departed for her first meeting. I was instructed to keep one gag, and given the choice, I opted for the ball-plug. But I didn't have to put it in yet, just wear it around my neck, ready for when the occasion arose. Lucy then took Richard and me up to the second floor. My heart sank. The room was bleakly barren. There were a dozen office cubicles and a bank of computer consoles with phone operators, mostly women. And that's where we spent the morning, in what is officially the guest information and inquiries response unit but what its denizens facetiously call the "G spot" (for "grouses, gripes and grumbles"). It was not the most exciting of times. We moved around, observing the various functions and procedures. Unlike the receptionist, the female staff were not chained to their work stations. Some were gagged — not those working the phones of course — but I couldn't detect any scheme for who was and who wasn't. Lucy had gone off somewhere, so I asked the supervisor on duty at the time.

"Personal choice," was all he said.

I should have asked a woman, because I have a hard time believing there isn't more to it than that. For a start, no workplace I've been in features "personal choice" as an employee option, if it has any sort of impact on staff performance. And in any case, I like my gag as much as any girl on the island does, but there's a time and a place; and as far as I'm concerned, strictly personally, on the job isn't that time or place. I suspect that the "choice" has more to do with a commitment made to a boyfriend or husband (or girlfriend, of course), or something like that. Nevertheless, the sight of the gags isolated from public scrutiny was a reassurance that the resort's

raison d'être

is not just a façade for the tourists.

In fact, the most important thing I have learned today (and I guess I'm jumping ahead of my story here) is that being a member of the staff is, for the females in particular, not just a job but a lifestyle. We are reminded of that by the collar, bracelets and anklets we are required to wear on duty, and the choker that must be worn at all other times, at least when in public. They are not just part of your uniform, they are the symbols of what you are, and what you're not. They become like a part of you. That's how it's different for the males. Richard gets to shed his company persona at the end of the working day. We don't. What defines us as females, what separates us from the males, is what we are twenty-four-seven. Yet I don't see that as a problem.

A lot of people — perhaps most — regard bondage in terms of an unequal power exchange; and it's true that once the ropes are applied one partner has the power of control. In that sense it's not (as I've mentioned) a relationship of absolute equality. But in "good" bondage you don't submit to the ropes, you consent to the ropes. Of course, on Aranea Island only females are the "receivers" (as Meredith called us the other night). That may be sexist, albeit no more than the disparity in uniforms. But I'm happy with that. In fact, I guess I'm a bit selfish and chauvinist. It's what makes being a girl special, on Aranea Island. And if there is a downside or two, well— as I've written in a previous instalment — that's the price we willingly pay for paradise.

End of lecture. I have digressed from my story once again, but the point is that I think its rules and customs do not just reinforce but actually define the ethos of the Aranea Island Resort. You cannot "sell" the lifestyle to the guests if you don't believe in it and follow it yourself. So I should get back to my tale, which in any case illustrates my argument much better than preachy exposition.

We took a mid-morning break in the ground floor canteen. This was, in fact, one of the few places where I have not seen a single blindfold or gag, and minimal use of wrist and ankle cuffs. I'm sure that's because it's a self-serve facility, and with females outnumbering the males by about three to one it would make the process very slow and cumbersome if it were otherwise. Rachel and I had coffee, and she insisted that I eat at least a banana. I humoured her, picking out the smallest in the bunch.

By the time I returned upstairs (without Richard), the flood of inquiries (and a few complaints) from the guest population had abated. Lucy told me that is normal, with the next inundation due to begin around lunchtime. So this was the opportune time to hold staff meetings and training seminars. I and Lucy were permitted to sit in. Not all starting employees get this sort of star assimilation treatment, just like they don't get assigned a chaperon like Kate. There are just too many. However, Rachel and Richard are not just run-of-the-mill workers. (Hmm, that comes across as rather snobby; but it's true. Anyway, I don't count myself in their tier of the hierarchy.)

Today, the section heads were getting together to discuss workplace health and safety measures relating to front office operations. Which, translated, means procedures for staff dealing face-to-face with the guests. A range of issues had been identified, and I found it not at all astonishing that virtually the entire agenda was taken up with matters involving female staff. One was a recommendation that security personnel be absolved of the compulsion to wear the collar and cuffs, for both practical and symbolic reasons. This proposal comes up every so often, it seems, and it was voted down. There simply aren't enough incidents of a kind to warrant such a drastic revision of fundamental policy. If you're female, you wear the collar and cuffs.

Two-thirds of senior personnel here are women. That number accurately reflects the ratio of the staff in general, but it's still unusual to see so many of my sex in higher level corporate positions. The presence of two distinguished visitors was acknowledged, everyone acting polite if somewhat formal. The meeting was chaired by the woman who had presided over the morning's assembly, and at its conclusion she came over to say hello. She's tiny — it's so nice to finally have someone who's smaller than me — and looks about forty, but well-preserved. I don't mean that in any patronizing or belittling way. It's just that you can tell a person's approximate age from subtle clues, like faint lines about the eyes and corners of the mouth; and yet she has an otherwise flawless complexion and a body any chick half her age would kill for. There are a few flecks and streaks of grey in her chestnut brown hair (cut in the short style so fashionable here) which she has not dyed over; and that's a pretty reliable indicator of self-assurance.

Her name is Maggie and she's one of the Resort's executive directors. And now I know that the top echelons of management are not exempt from the regulations, because she was wearing the

de rigueur

skimpy sarong, collar, bracelets and anklets. Plus, of course, she had been part of that extraordinary pageant earlier in the day. And what's undeniable is that these things boost your self-confidence, as improbable as this might seem. To be able to work like that in such a high-pressure professional environment takes

and makes

a positive self-image, even a little

hauteur

, because it also requires self-discipline, physical endurance and skill.

I'm not disparaging males here; but recall the tribute to Ginger Rogers. She did everything Fred Astaire did, only backwards and in high heels.

Maggie took what was obviously valuable time from her roster to speak with me. She knew my relationship with Rachel and Richard but was genuinely interested in my goals, in particular my decision to defer full-time university to become a Park Ranger. But before long one of the men (who I think was her personal assistant) came up behind her and politely tapped her on both her elbows. She glanced over her shoulder, hardly moving her head, although her expression betrayed a flash of annoyance as she placed her hands behind her back. She blinked a couple of times and wobbled a little as he connected her bracelets. He wasn't very gentle, showing no deference to her seniority. In fact, I think he enjoyed making his boss wince. She looked as if she were about to say something more as he loosened the gag strap hanging around her neck. Just as her lips began to move, he pushed the ball between them, into her mouth.

"Sorry, ladies" he explained, "Maggie has an appointment." He may have been sorry to us, but there was no apology for her as he roughly seized her upper arms, swung her around and pointed her towards the door. As she was hustled away, she looked back and nodded a good-bye, before being taken into custody by another young man. He already had in tow two women from the meeting. He attached a leash to Maggie's collar and led his three captives off to their conference.

Lucy read my expression. I was thinking this had been a performance for our benefit. "We're normally more casual; but there's a delegation of VIPs arriving this afternoon. Word is, they're bigwigs coming in from head office." She groaned. "It's getting so you can't move for all the corporate brass hanging about." She didn't catch my secret smile. But on reflection, I think she knew and was kidding me. Those intensely expressive eyes were deceptive — the way a bright light can be illuminating or blinding.

Richard joined us just as we were leaving City Hall. I retrieved my belongings from the reception desk. Outside, it took me a few moments to transition from the artificial light of indoors to the dazzling sunshine. Lucy departed, after we agreed to meet back on this spot at one o'clock. Then it was a short walk to the park where Matthew and I had agreed to meet. But first we had to meet Daniel. His orientation was only for the morning session, and for some reason it was my onerous duty now to keep him company. He was waiting with Kate and Rachel on a lawn bench in the middle of the City Hall plaza. They were happily chatting, but the women looked relieved when Richard and I arrived. Their wrists were fettered in front, to their collars, hands in the "prayer" position, their ankle cuffs were attached, so they couldn't escape my cousin's company, if they'd been so inclined. Daniel reluctantly freed their feet but left their hands bound. Kate took her leave with a redundant reminder to be back by one.