I knew it was her the moment my phone began vibrating. Anxiety flooded my senses -- the good and bad kind -- goosebumps spreading across my skin. God, this woman had such an effect on me that a mere text from her made my back straighten, my thighs squeeze, my nipples perk.
I closed the textbook I'd been referencing, capped my pen, removed the bonnet from my head to let my braids fall down my back. It was eight o'clock at night and I had a paper due in the morning. This was what I got for waiting until the last minute to do work I'd known about for a week. Now, I would probably need an extension, because, more than likely, I would not be coming back to this desk tonight.
I put the book in my backpack along with my notepad. Maybe I could finish in my car before school started.
My phone vibrated again, the two minute reminder of an unread text. I opened the iMessage waiting for me.
Turquoise
, her message said.
A smile spread across my lips.
***
I swiped the card she'd given me in the beginning, the gate to the parking garage lifting to let me in. The garage was practically empty, a few cars on each level. This was very different from the few times I'd come in the morning, every spot in the garage taken. I'd had to use a valet for the first time in my life, which I hated. I didn't like anybody driving my baby but me.
I went to the roof and parked in my usual spot. The hot wind blew pleasantly tonight, trying to sneak a peek under my overcoat. I looked off into the distance, the city tiny and glittering at this high altitude. I'd always imagined living in a studio with this kind of view. I would gaze at the city and remind myself never to be a patron of it again, I was meant for more, I was meant to be great, not another black girl living in a rent-subsidized apartment scattered with people who didn't care to dream anymore. Broken people. Shattered people.
Now isn't the time
, I reminded myself, shaking the intruding thoughts away. There was no time for pity or sadness. There was only time for motion and to keep going.
***
I wasn't sure what her occupation was. All I knew was that her office was on the 58th floor. You needed a keycard to even push the number on the elevator, and still a security guard demanded, "State your business here," before approving or declining the request.
The first time his voice had boomed from the speaker I hadn't known was there, I'd nearly jumped out of my heels. He'd had to repeat himself while I regained composure.
"Um," I'd stammered, unsure what to say. Was I supposed to be honest? Was I supposed to be discreet? She had given me all the keycards, but hadn't prepared me for this section of security. "I'm here to see Ms. Patra Smith."
He had let me up.
Now, I simply said her name - Ms. Patra Smith - and he would allow me up.
A security desk was the first thing you saw when the elevator doors parted. John, the night shift security guard, came around the desk and waved his metal detector wand over me. He did this when I came and again when I was leaving.
After all those layers of security, I was able to stand at her door. I didn't know it was her door because her name was on it. It wasn't. There was nothing on the polished redwood door but a palm reader. The only reason I knew which unmarked door was hers was because I counted them as I walked down the hallway. Hers was the 32nd.
"Three two," I said out of habit. Then I said, "one" and pressed my hand to the palm reader.
***
"Good evening, Beatrice," she said.
I hated that she insisted on using my full name. I went by Bea. Everyone called me Bea. Why couldn't she just call me Bea? Even still, butterflies started in my stomach at the sound of her voice.
"Evening, Ms. Smith."
"I hope my text didn't disrupt your night."
"You're never a disruption."
"What were you doing?"
"I was asleep. I have an early class tomorrow."
"Did you finish all your work?"
"Yes."
"Good girl. I'll try not to keep you too long since you have an early morning."
As she always said. Somewhere in the night that information always floated from our minds like snowflakes.
"Hang up your coat."
I went to the coat hanger and did just that. When I turned back to her, she smiled, admiring the turquoise teddy I wore.
"That color on your skin," she said, nodding in approval. She stood, coming around her desk, red-bottoms clicking against the marble floors as she made her way over to me. Her slow, graceful gait drove my anxiety through the roof as I waited for her hands, her lips, her body to reach me.
"Tonight," she said, "I'm going to watch."
"Watch?" I asked.
She was finally in front of me, but she didn't touch me. With her right in my face, I could see the frustration in her brow. She'd had a bad day. Those were the days the sadist lurking inside her came out to play.
She looked over at her couch. It was only then that I noticed the machine set up there. My heart jumped.
"Do you know what that is?"
"I've seen them in porn. Never in real life."
She grasped my hand and walked me over to the couch. On the end of the machine was a dildo. When turned on, the machine would thrust at any speed the operator selected. I'd always wanted one for myself. They were too expensive for an unemployed college student.
