Changes Ch. 03

Why, oh, why would she ever do this? Of all the things she could have done, I tried to think of how she could do any worse and couldn't come up with any realistic answer. (realistic? have you been paying attention, boy?)

I turned the computer off, rose from the chair and went outside to shut the garage down in a stupor. I came back in, laughing humourlessly at my inability to believe Dagmar couldn't do any worse, locked the doors and took a shower. I then collapsed in my bed, trying not to think of a Christmas family reunion with Dagmar Alejandro as my wife. Mom would probably drag us to Midnight Mass and the pot-luck suppers at church while Bridgette went on and on about her stupid, stinking life with Ken, her husband-Oh, God help me!

I finally did fall asleep, making it all go away for a while.

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During the next week, I made sure to never be quite sober, or completely drunk either, although I was a lot more concerned about being sober. I doubled my cigarette intake and spent most of my time out in the shop, having finished with the Monza and its beautiful new coat of black paint, trying to think of normal things. I'd started a new project, pretending life was what it always was and didn't include some recent and alarming components, such as Dagmar and my impending visit home for Christmas. But, of course, my thoughts would sooner or later turn to that anyway as I subconsciously stressed about a surprise call from Mistress.

Keeping my mind off Dagmar turned out to be a useless exercise in futility and, furthermore, it wasn't like me to not deal, even when the best answer turned out to be another one way trip down the highway. Hey, the best way to deal with your problems is to run away from them. So, as I carefully modified a small, high pressure oxygen bottle, I went over everything in my mind, mostly concentrating on Dagmar and the things she'd said.

Basically, this woman noticed me notice her. She accurately assessed my attraction to her and became, in turn, interested in me, possibly on account of that, or because there was something about me she found attractive from the outset and would have anyway. No, it was because of my interest in her. As attractive as she was, at work she was something different and most men would be more afraid of, or personally threatened by her, and she would have leapt at any half decent looking male that noticed her in the way I did, especially one who looked down in submission.

So then she becomes interested, then distracted, then,... enamored? Obsessed? Is there even a difference? I decided on 'obsessed'. She'd have to be to take so personally my snubbing of her, and I actually did see some hurt in her eyes when she was relating her account of those days and my attitude. She'd definitely have to be obsessed in order to wait for an opportunity to entrap me like she did, especially in the way she did.

This meant that she had feelings for me, as I did for her, but only if obsession counted as legitimate feelings. One thing I knew about obsessed people was that they could be dangerous and, once again, I figured her method of entrapping me was a pretty good indicator of that particular theory.

One thing was certain: She had money and lots of it. I could only guess that she was one of those rich people who preferred to fill their time constructively and, for her, that could mean surrounding herself with possible victims for her amusement at a place like a call center.

To sum up, I was dealing with a rich and powerful, lonely, horny, totally unpredictable, obsessive and possibly dangerous beauty who would go to any lengths to get what she wanted, and probably to keep it, too. And she cared about me.

As for myself, the only thing that kept me from falling for her completely was how she'd entrapped me and the screwball stunts she pulled, like contacting Bridgette. I worried at how easy it was for me to forget about these things when in her presence and wondered how I could bring that under control without tipping her off. I wondered if I really even wanted away from her, or did I just want,... what? A different arrangement with her?

How far had my undeniable and seemingly growing feelings for her gone? It was true what she'd said, that I'd never met any woman like her and that no other could ever possibly compare to her and how she made me feel about her. But what didshewant?

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Her cell phone rang just after six on Friday evening. I put the hardened steel center punch I was about to strike with a hammer down on the bench, forgetting all about the difficulties involved in drilling pipe as my respiration increased and my gut tightened. It was a mixture of excitement at getting to see her again and the dread of the inevitable disasters that always went with getting to see her again.

"Hello?" I answered.

There was a pause before, "Have you given this number out to anyone?", Dagmar asked.

"No."

"So it could only have been me calling, correct?"

"Ummm,... yes."

"Well, stop and think about that."

About fifteen seconds went by while I tried to think of whatever it was she wanted this time, drawing a blank.

"I asked you a question, boy!"

"I'm sorry, Mistress, I just don't- I mean, I can't,... I'm trying to think, Mistress." I managed, startled by her demand.

"Well, stop it, you're embarrassing us both! I'll just spell it out for you, since I obviously have to! How-"

"I'm sorry, Mistress." I quickly offered.

"Would you shutupuntil I can explain it to you!? God almighty! Now, how would you properly greet me if I walked through your front door and was standing right in front of you?"

"I would say- Oh!", I suddenly exclaimed, getting her point and silently cursing myself for being too psyched out to get it sooner. "I should have answered, 'Hello,Mistress'.Sorry, you're right. Just wasn't thinking."

"Yes, I've noticed that little 'off-and-on' condition with you. Look, that's not why I called. I need you for a little something tonight, so be at my door at nine PM sharp. Wear the black dress pants and shoes, white button up shirt-don'troll up the sleeves and no tie. You got all that?"

"I got it."

"One more thing: When I say nine sharp, I meanRolextime, boy. It's synchronized with mine, so wear it."

"Right.", I said, sighing inwardly, disliking the pretentious deadweight that was more like a bracelet than a watch.

"Hurry along, now." she said before hanging up, just as I was about to ask her what was going on.

I folded the phone and slipped it back in my pocket. Taking a sip from the bottle on the workbench, I leaned against it and lit a cigarette. By my own $39.99 watch, I figured it was better to get more or less right on cleanup and a meal without wasting time, just in case. It wouldn't do to be late.

I tarried for ten minutes anyway, smoking the cigarette and thinking of how Dagmar's demeanor on the phone seemed to be the same as in her office that day, when she first began kicking my life apart. It didn't necessarily mean anything, what with her mood swings, but it just didn't seem to bode well.