The drive to work, always frustrating but never changing. Brief case rocking gently in the passenger seat. Today was another in a long string of days tied together with boredom.
Over ten years with this company, and unable to move past middle level management. You know you are better prepared than most you work with, but still the upward movement never occurs. Wondering if the cause is your gender, you glide into your parking place, in the covered tower area.
Mick, the Landmark security guard near the elevator flags your attention as you approach. Turning in his direction, he reaches under the counter and passes forth a long slim white box tied with a white bow. The box reminds you of the ones that you see delivered occasionally through out the office. Usually carrying flowers, especially roses, to those around you. Never has Tim sent flowers before.
Riding the elevator to the third floor, you find yourself rushing to the little cubical they call an office, anxious to open the package from Tim. You're wondering what the motivation for flowers was, especially since you had hardly spoken in a few weeks. Perhaps he was trying to make amends. Your smiling, thrilled to have him re-opening that door. Now, maybe you can re-kindle that which brought you together once.
Placing the box on your desk, you glance around, checking to see if your co-workers are watching. All appear to be pre-occupied. Smoothing your skirt under you as you sit in the swivel back armless chair. Hands trembling with excitement, you untie the bow, wanting to save it along with the box to show Tim later. The bow spread around the box, the lid lifting. A quick peek inside, under the flap of the box, reveals that it is indeed not flowers. Lifting the lid completely you find a black silk and brocade evening gown. Lifting it from its container, holding it up you realize that it is floor length, possibly hand made, and very, very elegant.
Tim would never have picked out something like this. He is way too conservative. Backless with low cut front, and slit on the side, almost to the hip. Beautiful. You look back to the box. Searching for a note. You had not noticed one under the bow. No note. A quick call downstairs to Mick, confirms that there was no note attached upon delivery. Turning the dress over and over, caressing its smooth silky fabric, you wonder what had gotten into Tim. This was so fantastic, yet so unlike him. Maybe, just maybe.
A shadow crosses your desk. A glance up reveals another deliveryman, no more like a messenger. A white envelope sealed on the flap with wax is proffered. Taking it, the messenger turns and leaves. You turn the envelope over and over. The script on the outside is the same as before. Heart racing, hands trembling, you pry the wax off, and open the flap. Him. The note in the same format, beseeching yet commanding confirms that the gown is from him.
Well it can all just go back to where it came from. Your vow not to meet again will remain unbroken. Another call to Mick, followed by disappointment. Mick is unable to inform you where the package came from. You hadn't noticed a company name on the jacket of the messenger service. You replace the gown in the white box, re-tie the bow and place it on the credenza behind you. The note is still open on your desk. You notice that your fingers are gently tracing the edges. I can't do this. Can't do this to Tim, or even to myself. Yet something, something deep within, something yet not admitted to yourself confirms that you will again comply with the wishes of the note.
Thank GOD Tim works late most evenings. The meeting is set for six-fifteen. For the last two hours you have been making excuses up in your mind not to attend. Yet here you stand rather than sit, avoiding wrinkles in the gown, ready to go forth to you know not where. The limousine is due at any moment. This will be easy, you can just tell the driver no, that you are unable to go with him.
You jump at the sound of the knock on the door. Peeking out the bedroom window, you can see the long sleek black vehicle parked at the curb in front. Your view from the second story obscures the front door. Unable to see the cause of the knock you know it must be the driver. Building your courage, making your mind steadfast, you decide in fact to tell him that you cannot leave. Another knock, and you start for the stairs.
Hand closing around the familiar knob, the door opens. A driver standing there, saying nothing, points to the car. You look to him for information, look to the long black shining vehicle, feel the gown tightly hugging your body. You start to speak, but are unable. The door closes softly behind you, as you follow the driver to the open back door of the limousine. As you slide in, the slit in the gown opens, eliciting a glance from the driver as he notices the long lean leg and firm thigh. There on the seat is the scarf, and beside it another note in the same script. The door closes gently, the click of the lock like a gunshot in your ear. A moment of panic moves thru you. You tear the note open, and read the contents. Why, what is it with me you ponder. The car is not moving, it's still sitting at the curb. The driver is waiting. The familiar scarf, folded, now in your hands. Covering your eyes, and with resignation you pull the knot tight. You hear the window between you and the driver rise, the car in gear, and the sensation of movement.
What is this? Sitting in the soft leather seat of the moving vehicle, you wonder. Blindfolded, going who knows where, to meet who knows whom, for whatever reason. This is crazy. Your hands move up to the scarf, ready to remove it, but something stops you. You have a need for some remote reason to see this through. Hands again in your lap. The gentle rocking of the limo, you lean back and relax. Well more like controlled panic. Listening for familiar sounds, you realize that the limo is almost sound proof. You find your Heart racing, and your mind almost out of control. You notice your hands quivering in your lap.
The drive seems to last forever. You realize that you have moved out of the city. The limo moving faster and smoother. Probably traveling on the freeway. Soft music begins playing, the sound surrounding you, helping you relax. Breathing is easier and your heart slowing to almost normal. Still the vehicle moves on. On and on, steadily, very little change in direction. The sounds of the music lulling you into a very relaxed state. The constant click of the tires on the road is a most pleasant humming in your extra sensitive ears.
Slowing now, and a slight turn to the right, confirming your exit from the freeway. Slowing more, a complete stop. A turn to the right, the road rougher than before. Many swerves, a few stops and a few tight turns in each direction. You sense a driveway. Ears detecting gates opening. The limo moving forward. A few more twists and a complete stop.
Hands shaking again, mouth dry, the side door that you entered, how long ago, opens. A cool draft moves across you. Your exposed thigh feels a slight breeze. A soft gentle hand taking you by the arm. Guiding you from the vehicle. Legs opening to move across the seat. Turning at the sill, knowing that the slit is open, hands trying to close the gap. Unable to see, makes you wobbly on the tall heels. Finally you are standing. Guided forward, you hear a female voice, " four steps". One, two, a wobble on three, assistance from the one at your side, four. Scuffling sound of your shoes on tile. A slight trip on a threshold. The feeling of big overwhelms you. A door latching behind you echoes off the interior walls.
The hand assisting you drops away, no sounds. Alone, or not, you have no idea. Your neck moves about seeking any sound, anything to help give you a bearing. Nothing.
