I lost a bet...
My partner supplied random information... a person, a setting, etc... and demanded a story to approve for publication here.
I failed on my first two attempts.
The third attempt was the first story in this series. To wit, Manipulated Male: The Neighbour
It took me two attempts to complete a satisfactory 'punishment' story - one of the punishments for wasting her time with, quote, those two useless rambling nonsense pieces of garbage, unquote.
This story is that first accepted punishment story...
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The photo sat alone on the small round table. The content was devastating. In the back left was the smoke billowing from a fire and in the back centre right was a group smashing the window of a shop. It took a moment to stop reeling, mentally - and I think quite possibly I might have wobbled physically -before I could once again focus. I wasn't smiling and I wasn't running or skipping gleefully. No reason I should be, of course. I'd delayed leaving the arena to avoid the worst of the crowds, only to discover the streets outside were immersed in a full blown riot. I'd been picking my way through the mess for 20 odd minutes, judging by where I seemed to be in this photo.
"It was a mess," I said quietly.
"I'm pretty sure the boss won't be best pleased."
I turned to look at the bitch. I thought of her as a bitch because she was a bitch. She and her department were less than competent and were proven less than competent by my results, as a private contractor, since I was brought in two years previously to perform a significant portion of her previous task.
There was something ugly about her smile. Something ugly about the whole scene.
"I shouldn't think anyone is best pleased."
"But the boss won't have much option, will she. Not when the cc goes to the local paper." She turned the monitor on her desktop to show me the email.
I couldn't read it. Didn't have to. Social media was being used to identify the main culprits to the post sporting event ramage. The perpetrators of the riot were now the subject of a public witch-hunt. "Don't be silly. I didn't have anything to do with..."
"Looks pretty damning to me," she interrupted, smiling her most insidious smile.
She would do it. No ability but machination was her modus operendi. And she has no moral compass whatever. Yes, the bitch would press the send key.
" Even you wouldn't do this. The boss knows I was at the match last night, we had a phone conversation about something else earlier this morning..."
"Looks pretty damning to me," the bitch repeated, turning the monitor back toward her, and typing quickly, "and while I bet the boss knows the outline of events from your point of view I bet she doesn't know you hung around afterwards long enough to be in midst of the riot..."
"People from the match were caught up..."
"Not people who are a significant public face for this organization and not people for whom the local news media have an immediate interest..."
"Listen...!"
Once more she was very quick to cut me off, "Please, Ms Marks, I would like a few minutes to put my case."
"Pardon?!" I was finally fed up with the bitch and her nonsense.
"3-2-1." She stopped typing and looked straight at me. "Too late. Take off your shirt and you can try again..."
I think the room literally shifted on its axis. Yet again. She was serious. When I was more or less able to focus again, she was speaking, "I'm a marketing expert. I know you don't think I'm very skilled but I think you'll find I can frame this pic to your complete disadvantage. So I'm giving you to the count of 10 to get your shirt off and start speaking to me nicely."
"But..."
The bitch's eyes positively sparkled. "We'll start with your shirt and see where it goes. 10-9-8..." It wasn't a quick count but it was a steady one. "...7-6..." I couldn't read bluff anywhere in her eyes or body language. Quite the contrary, the loathing was mutual and she was going to, well... "5-4..." I started unbuttoning my shirt..."3-2..." I had pulled out the flaps from my slacks and I was on the last couple of buttons. Something about my fingers wasn't quite right...they were stiff and uncooperative... " 1-0".
My shirt came off and I held it out. Wrinkling her nose, and sniffing, she said, "Anywhere on the floor will do. And because you were slow take off your shoes as well."
I put my shirt on the small round table and kicked off my shoes.
"I said on the floor. Add your socks to your shoes."
It was a battle of wills. The joker was the pic and it was in her hand. For the moment at least, she was calling the shots. I dropped my shirt on the floor, sat in one of the chairs beside the table and peeled off my socks. These I tucked in my shoes.
She was smiling broadly now, but the eyes were malicious. "Better...now say 'Please, Ms Marks, I would like a few minutes to put my case'."
