NOW:
Ronald walked up to the woman behind the desk, wishing he could wipe the sweat from his palms but not wanting to wreck his suit. He'd dressed in his nicest outfit for this; it seemed somehow appropriate to look good for Elsie, given how long it had been since they'd last seen each other. Would she even remember the time she'd spent here? Or would she just open her eyes, smile at him, and wonder why he looked three years older? (Or perhaps more than three years. He felt like he'd aged a decade since the last time he'd walked into this building.) He'd find out soon. Ronald glanced at the mirror behind the receptionist, trying to unobtrusively check his thinning brown hair to make sure it covered his bald spot reasonably well before remembering that it wasn't like his wife didn't know it was there. He almost wiped his palms on the suit again, caught himself, and finally set the small piece of paper on the desk with an anxious finality.
"Ronald Mercer," he said, just a trifle nervously. "I'm here to pick up my wife."
The receptionist smiled a plastic smile at him. Her eyes had a dreamy vacancy to them. "Of course, Mr. Mercer," she said in a cheerful tone. "And do you have your claim ticket with you?"
Ronald slid the piece of paper in front of the woman. "Yes, it's...it's right here." He'd had nightmares the last two weeks running, dreams in which the ticket was missing, or lost in a fire, or caught by the wind and dropped in the river...in one dream, David Beckham had stolen it and claimed his wife instead. That had been a weird one. But the ticket was still there this morning, safe in the file cabinet where he kept all his important papers. Even if it hadn't been, Ronald thought that he would probably have been able to get her back. It wasn't like Ms. Graves didn't keep records of her own. She'd remember Ronald, even after three years. She wouldn't pretend that she didn't know him, just so that she could keep Elsie all to herself...would she? Ronald was suddenly grateful he didn't have to find out.
The receptionist took the claim ticket and glanced it over. "Everything seems to be in order," she said. "I'll just page Mistress Marissa now." She pressed a button on the telephone, and spoke into the little grill. "Mistress?" she said. "I'm afraid the claim ticket has come in for Elsie." Ronald looked down at his shoes. He didn't even rate a name, not here.
The voice from the grill sounded sad and perhaps a little tired. "Alright," it said. Ronald recognized it as Ms. Graves. "We'll be down presently."
The receptionist looked back up at Ronald. "The Mistress will be down presently," she said. "If you could just wait over there?" She pointed to a small waiting area with a few chairs, and Ronald nodded. Even before he'd fully turned, her expression had returned to that same placid, empty look she'd possessed before he started talking to her. She seemed utterly content to wait at the desk forever, not even thinking about boredom or distractions. Right now, Ronald envied her.
The seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness, but his watch told him it was only a couple of minutes before Ms. Graves came out of the elevator with Elsie following close behind like an adoring pet. Elsie was in the same dress she'd worn the day they came here, but Ms. Graves was wearing a silk robe, and it was pretty obvious she had nothing on underneath it. Both of them seemed to glisten just slightly with sweat, and Ms. Graves was still gently patting her dark hair back into position as they crossed the room. Elsie's blonde hair was anything but neat; it looked like someone had just been running their fingers through it, tugging it, pulling on it and gasping...
Even before they got close enough that Ronald could smell the scent of sex on them, he knew what they must have been doing. He tried not to picture it in his mind, but the scent made it all too immediate not to imagine.
"My apologies," Ms. Graves said, "I was just saying good-bye to Elsie." She sat down, but Elsie remained standing. Ronald saw that same look in her eyes that he'd seen in the receptionist's...that blank, placid, dreamy emptiness that suggested nothing but sleepy bliss. She looked happy, nothing like the haunted expression she'd worn when he last saw her. "To be honest, Mr. Mercer, I was rather hoping you wouldn't come. I've grown quite fond of your wife."
Ronald frowned. "Do people actually...do that?" he asked, fascinated horror in his voice.
"Every so often, yes," Ms. Graves said. "Some men do consider me a profitable alternative to a divorce attorney. They convince their wives of the absolute necessity of a short time in my service, then crumple up their claim ticket and throw it away."
"What do you do? I mean, with...with the women?"
Ms. Graves flashed a tiny smirk. "Depends on the woman. If I like her enough, I keep her; Miranda, there, has been in my service for seven years now." She gestured to the receptionist, who shivered pleasantly at being acknowledged. "But for the most part, I simply release them after it becomes apparent that their husband isn't returning, and make sure to mention that little fact to them. Most judges tend to be very favourable in their divorce settlements when it comes up in court that the husband sold the wife into slavery." She smiled thinly in a way that made Ronald's blood run cold. "Not that anyone brings up the specifics of the arrangement, of course."
"Of, of course," Ronald stammered out, trying to convey his discretion through tone and body language. He was uncomfortably aware that all he probably gave off was fear, but perhaps that was all Ms. Graves wanted. Ronald didn't care, really. He just wanted to get his Elsie back and get out of here, and forget he'd ever seen this woman. He wanted to forget the picture in his head of Elsie, dreamy and blissful, kneeling between Ms. Graves' thighs and licking with the docile patience of a mindless slave... "So how, I mean, how does this work? Do you just snap your fingers, or...or..." Ms. Graves fixed him with a penetrating stare, and he trailed off into silence.
"She's very beautiful, Mr. Mercer," Ms. Graves said. She made no move to release the other woman. She seemed contemplative, almost melancholy. "I expect it must have been difficult, spending three years apart from her."
Ronald nodded. "Of course it was," he said, perhaps a bit more sharply than he'd intended. Had she really thought that just because they'd been driven to...to this...that he didn't love his wife?
Ms. Graves frowned. "Tell me, Mr. Mercer, did you sleep with another woman while Elsie was away?"
"I..." Ronald tried not to sound defensive. "I don't have to put up with these questions. Just--"
"Just what? I don't think you appreciate the position you're in, Mr. Mercer. What exactly do you think you'd do if I decided not to release Elsie, hmm? Complain to the Office of Trading Standards?"
"I'd...I'd go to the police." Ronald hoped he sounded braver than he felt.
"Even knowing that you'd be implicating yourself by admitting it all?" Ms. Graves asked with decadent amusement in her tone.
"If I had to, yes. If that's what it took to make you set her free." Ronald was almost surprised to find out that he meant it. He hadn't really thought of himself as anything other than timid, but as soon as the words escaped his lips, he realized he was sincerely willing to go to jail if that was what it took.
