The Mistress Pt 03

Wei bounced her tea bag up and down in the cup. She looked at the other interns in their little break room.

"Brandon? Zoe? You haven't noticed a difference with her?"

Zoe put her sandwich down and threaded a potato chip from the bag.

"I guess I have," Zoe said. "Maybe she doesn't like working here? Maybe she's just done with school, done with college, ready to graduate and get to working."

"Maybe," Wei seemed skeptical.

"I'm so tired," Brandon said. "I can't believe it's only lunch time."

"Did you go out dancing last night?" Zoe asked him.

"You know I did!

"

he replied, giggling. He reached out his hand to Zoe for a high five.

Their hands smacked together.

Wei wasn't paying attention to them. She looked out the window of the break room, past the little annex where the vending machine and the drinking fountain were and saw the CISO looking in at the three of them from the hallway window. Frank something? She didn't know him.

Wei lifted her hand slightly in greeting.

"Why is he here," she said to the other two interns quietly. "He doesn't work on this floor, even."

Brandon took a bite of his sandwich.

"I think he walks up the stairs every day. He doesn't take the elevator, ever. Gets his exercise that way, that's what they say."

"He's a creep," Wei said. She put her hand down.

Frank nodded and pulled his face away from the window.

"I can't believe it's only lunch time," Brandon said again. "I am never going to make it all day."

"Zoe, why don't you find Morgan," Wei said, still looking out the window. "Make sure she's all right. See if she can come in and work on the spreadsheet. She's already missed a few days of this internship, and she needs it to graduate on time. I don't think they'll fire her or anything but... see if she needs to go home or what."

"OK, Wei," Zoe said, putting her sandwich down on the wax paper. "I'll go check on Morgan."

She strode briskly out of the room while Brandon rubbed his eyes.

***

Morgan blinked her eyes, startled. She pulled her head from the wooden table of the conference room.

She rubbed her face where it had been resting on the table.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't know anyone was in here," a man told her, standing by the front door, his hand still on the light switch.

"I was resting. I don't feel good- sorry."

"That's OK," he said, crossing the room towards her. He took one of the wooden seats close by her.

"You all right?" he asked her. "Can I help you?"

Morgan rubbed her eyes.

"No, I'm OK."

He reached his hand out to shake hers. She took it weakly.

"I'm John," he said. "John Claire. I'm in Informational Systems. Can I get you some water or anything?"

"I'm Morgan. I'm OK."

"You work here?"

"I'm one of the interns- I work under Lynda."

"Oh, OK. I think I know her. I'll go talk to her- tell her that you aren't feeling well, that you are heading home. OK?"

"No, I'm fine - "

There was a knock on the door, three sharp and commanding raps.

Frank stepped into the room without waiting to be let in. He glared at John Claire, then fixed his eyes on Morgan.

"There you are," Frank said to Morgan. "Claire, what are you doing here?"

"We have a meeting here, Frank. At 1:00."

Frank grunted.

"I was just going to tell Lynda that this nice young lady should go home and rest," John went on.

"Why don't you do that," Frank said evenly, still looking at Morgan. John stepped past his boss into the hallway.

Morgan seemed very pale under the fluorescent lights.

"You OK?" Frank jutted his chin at her.

"I'm feeling a little sick, I guess."

"John Claire bothering you? That guy's a faggot," Frank laughed to himself. "I am filing to have him fired later today."

Frank patted his jacket pocket where the disciplinary forms were signed and waiting to be delivered to human resources.

"No, Frank, he's fine."

He sat down next to her and put his hand around her upper arm, gripping her lightly.

"You look pale, baby doll. You should go home."

"I will."

"I know this internship is important to you, right? I mean, I know that if you don't complete it, you don't get to graduate, right? You wouldn't be able to get your job here, you'd have to do another semester in school, you'd have to find another internship. Right?"

The young woman looked him in the eyes.

"That's right."

"I mean I know that this is important to you, is all. It's important to me, too, right? That you do well here, that you feel good, that nothing prevents you from finishing your internship. So, if your boss gives you a bunch of shit about leaving today, you just come and tell me, OK? We can't let anything happen to you around here."

"OK, Frank."

"Good."

He stood up, gently pulling her to her feet.

"You go ahead on home now. Rest up. You probably weren't quite ready for what I put down on you last night, were you? Wore you out. That's OK. That's OK. You were a good little girl last night letting me fuck your ass, now you go on home and rest up. OK?"

"OK."

He smiled and let go of her arm.

"I'll be by with that wine bottle opener this weekend, OK? We'll have some fun. Don't drink it all before I get there!"

He laughed.

Morgan grimaced.

"I mean, I don't have a bottle opener, so... anyway, I have to study this weekend, I have a paper due- "

Frank frowned and shook his head.

"I don't like to hear you say the word 'no', baby doll," he said. "That's not how this works. I take care of you, and you take care of me, right? You'll make a little time for me. I'll send you a text when I am coming by. OK?"

She looked at the floor.

"OK?" he said louder.

"OK, Frank," she whispered.

"Good girl. You go on home now. You need your rest." Frank reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He pulled some bills out and handed the money to the young woman.

"Here you go, baby doll. I think it's a shame that they don't pay someone as pretty as you at this bullshit internship here. You go buy yourself a nice coat, OK? You need to stay warm out there. Right?"

She took the money with trembling hands. Why were her hands trembling?

Maybe I am coming down with something, she thought.

"Say 'thank you, Frank'," he said, a mocking smile playing across his face.

"Thank you, Frank."

"Good girl," he stroked her cheek. "If there's a little bit left over, you get yourself some nice underwear, too. Have it on for me this weekend when I come by. Fuck, I'm getting hard just thinking about it."

***

"So, like I say, we've been making some great progress," John said, putting the PowerPoint clicker down. "I've gotten authorization for some overtime hours, so soon the staff and myself will decide who will be working some weekends, and we should be all caught up. It'll be hard, but we've cleared the worst part and- "

"OK, OK," Frank interrupted, standing up. He looked at his watch.

He looked at John and shook his head.

"John, John," Frank looked around the room at the assembled technicians.

Frank closed his laptop with a click and sighed.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, John. But couldn't this have already been done by now? It seemed to me like it could have been. I seem to recall us all

agreeing

that it would be done by now. And now the corporation has to pay you a bunch of God damn

overtime

to get done what I think- correct me if I'm wrong- but what

I

think could and should have already been done by now?"

John stood, looking at his boss. He shook his head. He didn't know what to say.

He looked around the room, the rest of the technicians failing to meet his eyes. He started to speak, then stopped.

He didn't think there was any point.

"So, you have nothing to say for yourself. OK, John. That's the meeting, everyone. Get back to work!"

The technicians stood up and began filing out the door. John stood, waiting.

"You too, John!"

John slid his laptop into his bag and shuffled out with the rest.

When Frank was alone, he pulled his phone out, and took a look at his email. Nothing interesting.

You feeling better?

he texted Morgan.

Let me know when you got that nice underwear for me. Send me a picture of you in it. I don't know if I can wait until this weekend.

He put his phone away.

Frank picked up his briefcase and headed into the hallway. He walked right past the elevator and opened the doorway to the stairs. Human resources was quite a few floors above the conference room, but Frank didn't care. He never took the elevator.

He told everyone that he used the stairs to keep in shape- and that was partly true.

But the truth was, he was afraid of the elevator, afraid of the trapped feeling that he felt whenever he was in one. Like the walls were closing in, like he was an animal. Trapped.

Helpless.

He started walking up the gray, concrete stairs.

Time to get John Claire fired.

Used to be, Frank thought to himself, that you could just

fire

a motherfucker. But these days of bullshit PC culture, you've got to fill out all this fucking

paperwork

before you can tell some son of a bitch to hit the fucking streets.

He shook his head. When did this nation get so

weak?

So soft. Gays teaching school. Women crying about sexual harassment every time a motherfucker so much as-

"Hello," a woman said to Frank from a few steps above.

He stopped, startled. No one ever used the stairs.

He blinked at her. She was a nice-looking woman, probably late twenties, dirty blonde hair. She sat on a stair, confident, one leg crossed over the other. Just sitting there.

As if she was waiting for him or something.

But that was stupid.

"Hello," he said.

She just sat there looking at him, a calm smile on her face.

"Can I help you?"

"How are you today, Frank?"

"I'm fine. I'm sorry- have we met?"

"I'm Lynda Wainwright. I'm an administrative assistant here. I think you just sent one of my interns home? Morgan?"

"So?"

She smiled more broadly, and stood up to her full height, looking down the stairs at him.

"That's fine, Frank. I'm not upset. I'm glad that you are taking an interest in the well- being of our interns."

"OK," Frank said, looking up at the woman. For some reason he felt small. Insecure.

But I'm the boss here, he thought to himself.

"Now," she said. "Where are you going?"

I don't have to answer to you.

"I'm going to HR," he said. He patted his jacket pocket. "I have the paperwork ready to get John Claire fired."

"John Claire?" she asked. "Poor John Claire. I don't know him well, but he always seems very nice. Shy. He's very shy, isn't he?"

"I... I don't know."

"

I

think he's very shy. We can all be very shy sometimes. Don't you think so?"

"I guess."

"Maybe we should give him another chance. We can all benefit from another chance. May I see that paperwork that you have, Frank?"

"I guess so."

He reached into his jacket and handed it over.

"Thank

you," she said. Lynda took a quick look over it.

Frank stood there, one foot on the landing, one foot on the next step up.

Finally, she looked away from the sheet of paper. She focused her eyes on Frank.

"Let's forget about this," she said quietly, confidently. "Let's just get back to the things we need to do. OK?"

"Well..."

"I think it would be best. Thank you, Frank."

She turned away and walked up the stairs.

He stood there for a moment, watching her go.

I can always fire that faggot some other time I guess. I guess I don't need to bother with that now.

Frank turned around and walked back down the stairs, back the way he had come.

***

Lynda laid the carrots on the cutting board, next to the celery. She had already cut up the onions for the mirepoix, the ham had been cubed already and was sitting in the refrigerator.

She was making her famous split pea soup.

The front door opened.

"Hi, honey," she waved to her husband.

He came over and gave her a little kiss. The two of them talked about dinner, the soup, and how there was likely a need for corn bread if there was going to be split pea soup.

Corn bread it is, then.

She began to cut up the carrots.

Her phone rang, so she put the knife down and rinsed her hands.

"Hello?"

She listened for a moment.

"Yes. Yes, I saw him in the stairway."

She pulled the eggs out.

"No, he's not going to be firing anybody. Yes. Yes. I took care of it."

She listened for a moment longer.

"I understand. Thank you. I'll take care of it. You can rely on me."

Her husband came into the kitchen.

"Was that my phone, honey?" he asked.

"No," she said, dropping the chopped vegetables into the hot oil to sweat. "It was mine."

"Oh. You seem a little distracted. Anything important?"

"You know, I really don't remember who it was on the phone. Isn't that funny? I don't even remember who it was that called."