Chief Entranced Officer

The weather was perfect at Daniels Park. Dave surveyed the company picnic from his carefully-chosen lawn chair, smiling. His team had really outdone itself this year, he mused, sipping his glass of wine. He would give credit where credit was due. The background music was no canned playlist, but a live DJ playing a mix ranging from golden oldies (for the gray-haired old guard who had been at the company decades longer than Dave) to today's greatest hits (for the entry-level recent college grads); most everyone got a chance to pick a song. The food was catered barbecue from a little mom-and-pop joint downtown—it was good PR to support local businesses—and the middle-manager who suggested it hadn't been lying when she said it was a great value. Concerning the drinks...ah, there was something for everyone's tastes and price range. And for the entertainment—

"Mr. Romano?" Miss Danvers, Dave's secretary, motioned to get his attention.

Dave stood and walked over. "Yes, Miss Danvers?"

"The hypnotist is all set up. We can start the show at any time. Should we call everyone over?"

Dave paused, taking a sip from his glass again. "It's been an hour since the picnic started. I think everyone's had enough time to mingle, don't you? Let's start the main event." He grinned at Miss Danvers, winking.

Miss Danvers nodded and sent one of the interns—a tall, gangly young man in his sophomore year of college—to the DJ booth. The young man said something to the DJ, and the DJ's voice boomed over the mic. "Okay, everybody, it's time for the main event! To the stage!"

The crowd got the message and moved to the rows of chairs in front of the stage. Dave himself sat in the VIP section for holders of upper-level positions. Miss Danvers walked up the steps to the stage, taking the microphone off the stand in the center. "Good afternoon, everyone. I hope you're enjoying yourselves. Today, we have a very special guest here to arrange a performance for us. She has performed around the country, entertaining in such diverse locations as New York and New Orleans, and she was kind enough to agree to perform for our humble picnic today. Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Miss Olivia Stein!"

The crowd cheered as another woman—a tall brunette in a plain but tasteful white dress—strode onstage. Miss Danvers handed the mic to her and took her leave. Miss Stein looked around. "Good afternoon. It is my pleasure to perform at your picnic for you lovely people." She paused. "I assume some of you are wondering what, precisely, I do—specifically, the partners and friends of the employees would be wondering, as the employees were informed. I am not here as a singer. Nor a dancer. Nor a stand-up comic. In fact, I will be only guiding the show. I will not be the main attraction by any means. I speak, of course, of the art of hypnotism."

The crowd whispered, seeming excited. Dave grinned. Yes, this woman knew how to work a room. She was an excellent choice.

"You may consider hypnotism merely a party trick, and I must confess that in these particular circumstances, "party trick" certainly applies...but I would contest the label "merely". Hypnotism allows one to be absolutely free of inhibitions—nothing more, nothing less. For, you see, hypnotism cannot force anyone to do something that they, in their heart of hearts, do not want to do. As an example, were I to ask him," She pointed at the gangly intern, "To kill his direct superior while under hypnosis, he would likely not do it, as he is no murderer. That is beyond the abilities of all hypnotists, and the ethical scruples of most. However, less dire suggestions...so long as they do not violate some principle of a person, they may be followed without care for whoever watches...and isn't that a dream of many? To not care what anyone thinks? On that note...I believe the employees of the company put it to a vote out of the pool of willing persons which ones they would like to place in my care. Let me read off the list of names."

As Dave suspected, as the CEO, he was first on the list. The crowd cheered. Slowly, he and nine other men—mostly high-level managers—made their way up to the stage, each sitting in one of the ten chairs. The group was well-dressed—suits and ties on some, turtlenecks on others. Dave himself, sitting in one of the center chairs, dressed immaculately in a brown v-neck sweater carefully chosen to accentuate his muscles, as well as black dress slacks with shiny black leather shoes. His watch—a Rolex—glittered in the fall sunlight. Looking around, Dave was fairly certain that he was the best-dressed out of all of them, if he did say so himself.

"Now," Miss Stein continued, "I am going to ask my participants to watch this light." She took out a small, bright light and held it out toward center stage. Dave focused on the light. "Don't try too hard, of course. Simply relax and watch the light. Mr. DJ?"

The DJ seemed to get the message and turned on a soothing, wordless tune. Miss Stein continued. "Now, continue to focus on the light. Listen to my voice. The light and my voice. Watching the light makes you feel relaxed. Listening to my voice makes you feel relaxed. And the more relaxed you become, the better you feel."

Dave could feel himself start to drift away. He allowed it. This was the whole point, wasn't it?

"Yes. The more you relax, the better you feel. And watching the light and listening to my voice makes you feel ever so relaxed." She continued in this vein for a while, then paused. "Now. I am going to count down from ten. For every number I read off, you are going to become more and more relaxed. Deeper and deeper down into relaxation. And as you relax, your eyes are going to begin to close. Your bodies are going to begin to droop. You are going to fall deep into a trance. Ten...nine...eight..."

Dave's eyes began to close. He drooped over in his chair. The crowd laughed, but Dave didn't care.

"Seven...six...five...four..."

Dave's eyes were completely closed.

"Three...two...one."

Dave was completely in a trance, slumped over.

Miss Stein smiled. "Now. Whenever I say the word "sleep" or touch your head, you will fall back into this deep, deep trance. This beautiful nothingness." She passed among the men, making sure they were entirely under. Upon discovering that all were good subjects, she nodded and stood to the side, allowing the audience to stare. "For the first performance, I will default to an old classic. When you wake up, you will be on a roller coaster ascending to the top of the first drop. Wake up."

Dave and the other men snapped to attention. In Dave's mind's eye, he could see himself in the front compartment of a roller coaster on the first incline. More specifically, it was a model he recognized—the Punisher from the local theme park. He clenched his fists around the lap bar, looking around.

God dammit, he hated roller coasters. He only knew what being on this one was like because his teenage son had forced him on.

"Your car is going higher and higher. The people down below look as small as ants. You're almost at the top."

Some of the men were grinning in anticipation. Dave just looked panicked. Fuck, he shouldn't have gotten on this thing. Why did he get on, anyway? He didn't remember.

"You are at the top! Down you go!" The Punisher rocketed down the first drop. Dave screamed like a girl, gripping the lap bar for all he was worth. Shit, shit, shit...

The audience, of course, howled in laughter.

"The car tilts to the left." Dave pressed himself to the right. "The car tilts to the right." Dave pressed himself to the left. "The car goes in a loop!" There were no loops on the Punisher, but in this dreamlike state, Dave could imagine it and didn't notice the factual inaccuracy.

Some of the men had their arms in the air, screaming in excitement. Dave screamed in terror. "LET ME OFF!"

The audience roared. Miss Stein cracked a smile. "The roller coaster slows to a stop. Feel free to undo your lap bar and leave the car."

Dave pressed a hand to his chest, catching his breath. Phew. He undid his lap bar—no need to tell him twice—and stood.

Miss Stein walked over to Dave. "So, Mr. Romano. Did you enjoy yourself? Be honest."

Dave shook his head vehemently. "Fuck no! Why did I even get on that thing? I'm never doing that again!"

The audience howled. Miss Stein nodded. "I see. Everyone, sit down and sleep."

The men sat down and slumped over in their chairs. Miss Stein paced the stage, looking over her performers. "Now. Next, I will change the scene. You are at a dog show in Westminster. When you wake up, anything I say will be true. Wake up. You are going to stand and match up in pairs."

The audience gasped, having some idea of what was coming. The men did as they were told, and five pairs stood toward the center of the stage. Dave stood toward the center, next to the head of HR, Jack. Miss Stein nodded. "If I touch you on the head, you will go down to all fours. You are a potentially prize-winning dog. If I do not touch you on the head, you are the handler. Please note that no one, dog or human, will attack anyone during this segment." She winked at the audience. "I have learned to include that the hard way."

The audience laughed.

Miss Stein passed down the line, touching the heads of half of the men, including Dave. Dave immediately dropped to all fours, his tongue lolling out. Dave's handler placed his hand on Dave's head, smiling. "You're a good girl," he said.

Miss Stein walked up to the first pair in line. "Mr. Braginsky, I hear your dog is in the running for Best in Show at this fine event. Will you tell me a little about them?

Kyle Braginsky, the head of IT, explained the origins of his temporary dog. Miss Stein moved down the line. Jack and Dave were third.

"And Mr. Johnson, I also hear that your dog is in the running for Best in Show. Would you tell me a little about them?"

Jack smiled dreamily. "Oh, Angela is a Chihuahua. Very well-behaved, though. Not a little yapper. Right, Angela?"

Dave barked in a falsetto. No, no, she was not a little yapper! She was a very good girl. She wagged her tail, which on the outside translated to Dave shaking his ass in his best slacks. The audience couldn't get enough.

Miss Stein smiled. "I see." She moved on to interviewing the final two pairs, then returned to the side of the stage. "The trainers will now parade their dogs around the arena in typical dog-show fashion. Forward!"

Jack walked forward, Dave—Angela—on all fours by his side. Dave felt very proud. He was a good girl! Such a good girl! And she was showing off for all these people. She stuck close to her master's side as he took her around the room. Finally, the line returned to its original position. Miss Stein nodded. "Very good. All of the dogs are now humans again, and none of you are dog trainers. Return to your seats."

The men complied. Miss Stein spoke. "Sleep." The men flopped over.

"I now change the scene again. If I touch your head, move to the background." Five of the men were removed from the line. Dave remained in the center. "When you wake up, you will be...female fashion models at a show in Milan. Wake up."

Dave—internally calling himself Sasha Baumgartner—woke up. He looked out upon the sea of faces and smiled. His public. In his mind's eye, he was a redhead—always had a thing for them—with short hair wearing a long, split-leg green dress and matching heels.

"Now, ladies, I want you to come over to this side of the stage. One at a time, you will walk to the catwalk in the center of the stage, walk down and back, then return to the group on the sidelines. Remember, you are some of the world's most beautiful women."

Dave strode over, swaying his hips as he walked. The audience giggled, and he smiled, enjoying the attention. He was fourth in line, and he took his time moving down the catwalk, angling his body for maximum effect. He posed at the end of the catwalk with his hands on his hips, in his mind's eye seeing camera flashes and a red carpet. He was a star, and he was enjoying every minute of it. He blew a kiss to the audience before returning to the sidelines, almost pouting.

"Very good, ladies. Now..." Miss Stein walked over to Dave, holding out the mic. "What is your name, miss?"

"Oh, my. It's always nice to meet a new fan! I'm Sasha. Sasha Baumgartner." Dave winked. The audience whispered, amused.

"Tell me, what is your favorite part about a fashion show?" Miss Stein looked Dave in the eye.

"Oh, that's easy. The different outfits! I love looking and feeling beautiful, and there's nothing better for that than a flawless set of clothes." Dave giggled.

"Indeed. Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Sasha Baumgartner!" Miss Stein gestured to the audience. The audience cheered. Once the applause died down, Miss Stein spoke again "To your seats, ladies—and gentlemen, you too. I thank you for being patient. We have one more act to try. Sleep."

When all the participants were down and out, Miss Stein looked around, conspiratorial. "So far, my friends, we have seen our participants as themselves. We have seen them as animals. We have seen them as women. But...there is something else I want to try. Mr. Romano, wake up. Come here."

Dave snapped to attention, rising from his chair and walking over to Miss Stein. His eyes were vacant, and his gait was almost robotic.

"On your hands and knees, Mr. Romano. As if you were going to crawl." Miss Stein looked Dave in the eye.

Dave complied, kneeling.

"You are now...a bench. An inanimate object. You do not talk. You do not move. You simply stand there. What was once your back is now a seat." She paused and turned to the audience. "Observe." Miss Stein sat down on Dave's back. Dave didn't say a thing. Why should he? He was a chair. That was what he was for. And she wasn't that heavy anyway—tall, but fairly light. His limbs didn't shake at all, as hours at the gym had given him a trim, muscled physique.

Miss Stein stood up, circling Dave. She touched his face. His leg. His back. Dave didn't respond. She spoke to him. Asked him questions. Still no response. The audience was silent, stunned.

"I think...I think we need one more demonstration." Miss Stein looked out into the audience and pointed at a man—Andrew, who worked in graphic design and was frankly overweight. "What is your name?"

"Andrew." Andrew stared, having some idea of what was coming next.

"Come here, Andrew. I want to show you how good of a chair Mr. Romano is."

Andrew wound his way up to the stage, fiddling with a pen in his pocket.

"Sit on him, Andrew. He is a chair right now."

"You think it's safe? I'm kind of, uh..." Andrew smoothed back his hair. The audience chuckled.

"He's a strong chair. He can handle it. Now, sit."

Andrew sat down. Dave's muscles strained. He began to sweat, his limbs bulging with effort.

But...he didn't talk. Didn't complain. Didn't move, beyond the trembling. He was a chair. A very good chair.

After allowing Andrew to sit on Dave for a solid minute, Miss Stein nodded. "Stand, Andrew. Return to your seat. You've been an excellent volunteer." Andrew scurried off to audience applause. Miss Stein turned to Dave. "You are a human again. Rise and return to your seat." After Dave complied, Miss Stein continued with, "Sleep. Now, all of you, I am going to count to ten. When I have finished counting, you will wake up and no longer be in a state of hypnosis. You will be able to be hypnotized again if desired, but for the time being you will no longer be susceptible to my commands. Ten...nine..."

Miss Stein finished counting, and Dave and the others woke up. It took a moment for Dave to remember all that had happened, but when he did, his face burned. It had been fun, sure, and it had been the risk he took, but damn, he didn't think the hypnotist would go that far. He stared at his lap.

Miss Danvers retook the stage. "A big thank-you to Miss Olivia Stein!" The audience cheered, and Miss Stein bowed, then left the stage. Dave rose, walking off the stage himself, and went to order a drink. Maybe a martini this time—fuck, maybe something stronger.

The picnic was a grand success, and Dave received compliments on the food and entertainment for weeks afterward. Even so, Dave decided that by his order as the CEO, there would be no more hypnotists at company picnics.

That was a little too dangerous for him.