The Mirror Ch. 04

Regrettably, Miss Carson couldn't possibly warrant paying James anything like the going rate - that is, the attractive salary that her five trained and diploma-qualified office girls (Associates) earned. At least, not as a starting salary. But she wanted to be fair. So, to start with, she'd told Doris, she would pay James the national minimum wage. And then she would see how things panned out; see how things went from there, and periodically revise James's pay scale, according to how he shaped up in the office.

And, James's duties: To perform the most mundane, most basic and simple of routine office duties - so that Miss Carson and her five office girls wouldn't have to.

Principally, so as to save them the trouble, as and when they required him to do so James would operate the fax/printer/copier machine for Miss Carson and her office girls. Though Miss Carson and her office girls would keep him busy (or, as Miss Julia Carson had put it: "Keep him out of mischief") with plenty of rudimentary, unskilled desk work, as well.

In calculating how to turn this undesirable situation to her advantage, Miss Julia Carson's how-to-turn-a-negative-into-a-positive thinking had been that James would thereby at least be earning his keep. He would at least be earning 'his salt', simply by freeing up some of her office girls' valuable time, enabling them to focus more of their attentions upon the really important matters.

And so, to this end, James would be Miss Carson's and her five office girls' underling: their menial, at-their-beck-and-call gofer, tidy-upper, tea maker - their office dogsbody.

But, two months later, and despite the decidedly technically undemanding nature of James's office duties, not only was he still being paid the national minimum wage rate, but he was also very lucky to still be in Miss Julia Carson's employ at all.

In the open-plan office, seated at the bottom desk of the V-shaped, 3-2-1 style work station, behind the five dark-pantyhose wearing, black-leather pump shod office girls (Miss Julia Carson had her own separate, private office), so distracted was he by their almost incessant, absentminded under-the-seat shoe-playing antics, that he just simply couldn't get enough desk work done ... Enough work, that is, for Miss Julia Carson to justify keeping James on her payroll - even at the national minimum wage rate ... He just wasn't earning his salt.

No. James was just too under-productive - he just wasn't pulling his weight. And there was simply no room in Miss Julia Carson's office, for a shoe-play watching, dead weight like James.

And - longstanding, way-back-when friendship with Doris, or no longstanding, way-back-when friendship with Doris - James had been issued his final "Shape up, or ship out!" warning, by Miss Julia Carson.

And now, Miss Julia Carson was 'here'. Actually 'here'.

And she was accompanied by all five of her office girls: Lisa, Stacey, Maxine, Gail and Jane ... But not, as James knew them.

If not for recognising Miss Julia Carson - or rather, her authoritative, she-who-must-be-obeyed voice - so readily, James might not otherwise have recognised the office girls.

After all, he'd never seen his early-twenties female colleagues looking like this, before: with their hair let down (metaphorically speaking, as well as literally); dressed up to the nines, in body-curve enhancing dresses; faces attractively made-up; and, wearing 'killer-heel' shoes, in place of their two-inch heeled, black-leather office pumps - just generally so knockout-looking.

At the door of the newly opening Krystal's nightclub, Miss Julia Carson said to one of the two black-suited, six-foot-something hunky bouncers standing sentinel there; the slightly older, early-thirties one, who looked more authoritative, "Good evening. There's six of us, altogether. Myself, and my five ... friends." James thought she'd been about to say 'Associates'.

Keeping his face deadpan, the authoritative-looking hunky bouncer replied, "I'm sorry, love. But I'm going to have to refuse you and your friends' admission to Krystal's."

At hearing this, and seeing his boss's comical-faced reaction, James's face broke into a grin. Miss Carson's face was a real picture, he thought as he reached for another chocolate-chip cookie.

"What? But - but why?" blurted a disbelieving Miss Julia Carson; highly aggravating visions of her and her office girls' night-club night out going all to hell - Lisa's twenty-first birthday night-out treat, going all to hell.

Still deadpan, the bouncer said shortly, "Health and Safety regulations."

"Health - Health and Safety regulations? Health and ... What - what are you talking about?" demanded the by now highly disconcerted Miss Julia Carson.

"Well," said the authoritative-looking bouncer and, smiling now, eliciting a smile from the other bouncer too who, Julia now realised, was clearly the authoritative-looking bouncer's underling, "it's because you are all ... dressed to kill."

At first, Julia didn't get it. And then Lisa giggled girlishly ... and then Julia got it. Got it, that the authoritative-looking hunky bouncer had paid them all a lovely compliment.

"If I didn't know better, Miss Carson, I'd say he's got the hots for you," said Lisa mischievously.

"Quiet, birthday girl!" said Miss Julia Carson, admonishing Lisa. "And I've told you, Lisa: it's Julia - we're on a night out, here!"

Of course! thought James, upon his remembering it was Lisa's twenty-first birthday, today. Yesterday (Friday) he'd presented her with a very nice card, and put £10 into the office whip-round collection for her. The other office girls had popped out to the shops Friday lunchtime, and bought Lisa's birthday present with the money they'd raised: some sort of scarf, that James didn't think was up to much, but that Lisa was absolutely delighted with; and a tiny bottle of perfume.

To Miss Julia Carson, the authoritative-looking, early-thirties hunky bouncer said smilingly, "Steve Conroy. Owner of Krystal's nightclub. Sorry if my er, little joke got you going there, for a minute. But perhaps free admission and first drinks on the house, for all of you lovely ladies, would go some way towards atoning for my sin?"

She's actually blushing! thought James as he avidly watched the scenario, as relayed to him via the medium of the mirror. Well, well, well ... Maybe it isn't ice-water running through her veins, after all, James conceded. And maybe Lisa is right: maybe Steve Conroy has, got "the hots" for Miss Carson. And, why not? James had always thought Miss Carson was a very attractive woman. And, credit where credit's due, she was certainly looking very glamorous and sexy tonight.

Miss Carson actually seemed flustered, thought James. And almost lost for words, which was so unlike her usual cool and collected self. But, under the dark-haired Steve Conroy's frank appraisal - under his penetrating, unwavering blue-eyed gaze, Miss Carson seemed to be melting. "Um ... Thank you, Mister Conroy. That's - that's very good of you. But, really, there's no need for any—"

"Nonsense! Please, let's hear no more about it - and it's Steve. Only my staff call me Mister Conroy. And, did I hear you say it's someone's birthday ... Lisa, wasn't it? Well, this calls for champagne!"

Miss Carson flapped, "Oh no! We couldn't possibly—"

Turning to his bouncer, Steve Conroy said, "Dean, just nip to the bar, will you? Ask Benny to put a bottle of Moet on ice for Lisa, here, for her birthday celebration toast. And make sure you tell him it's on me; to put it on my tab, yeah? Got that?"

"Yes, Mister Conroy," replied Dean, who then went off to do his boss's bidding.

Just then, a gleaming black stretch-limo pulled up at the kerb. And when a uniformed driver came around to the rear kerb-side door and opened it, a mid-twenties, six-foot tall, suntanned, sun-bleached blonde-haired guy got out of the car. And, upon his seeing Steve Conroy, grinning delightedly and with his right hand extended in familiar greeting, the new arrival made straight for the Krystal's nightspot owner.

"Dave!" exclaimed Steve Conroy warmly, reaching for the newcomer's outstretched right hand, equally delightedly. "It's great to see you! And how can I ever thank you? Thanks for coming over, and fitting me in, mate. I know you must have pulled out all the stops; maybe called in a few favours."

"Ah, don't mention it, mate. After all, what are friends for? And anyway, would I miss your opening night? As if! And don't forget, Steve ... you'll be paying me a fair wedge!"

Laughing, Steve Conroy replied, "Yes. But you're worth every penny of your outrageous fee, Dave."

Then, gesturing to Miss Julia Carson and her five office girls, Steve Conroy said, "Ah, where are my manners, eh? Dave, allow me to introduce Miss Julia Carson, and her five friends - including Lisa, here, whose twenty-first birthday it is, today."

Then, to Miss Carson and her five office girls, Steve Conroy said, "Miss Julia Carson, and friends, allow me to introduce a great friend of mine: Disco Dave. He's in big demand, these days. He's booked-up in Ibiza all summer, doing the amazing nightclub scene there. But, as a personal favour to me he's flown over especially, just for Krystal's opening night."

Disco Dave said to Miss Carson and her five office girls, "I'm very pleased to meet you all - delighted, in fact. And, Lisa, I'll be sure to play you a birthday dedication song - just pop up to the stage later, and let me know what sounds you'd like me to play for you."

Steve Conroy then said, "Well, in you go then, ladies. Have a nice night at Krystal's." Then he added smilingly, looking directly at Miss Carson, "And I'll pop by later, to make sure you are all enjoying yourselves."

"Ooh! He's definitely got the hots for you, Miss Carson!" exclaimed Lisa, as soon as they were inside Krystal's and safely out of the earshot of Steve Conroy and Disco Dave.

"No, he hasn't! And don't be so vulgar! And I keep telling you, Lisa: it's Julia. We're not at the office now. We're all on a night out, here!"

Maxine then piped up, militantly, "Well, Jules, I agree with Lisa. Steve Conroy has, got his beady eye on you. Anyone can see - it's so obvious! You are well in there - and you know it. And, a hunk like him, too!"

Blushing even more furiously, Miss Carson blustered, "Oh, just shut up, Max. See what happens, when I give you lot an inch? You take a mile. I mean ... Jules, indeed! And Mister Conroy has not, got his eye on me - beady, or otherwise. And, I am not, well in there, as you so vulgarly put it, Max."

Hmm ... mused James. Methinks Miss Julia Carson protests too much.

Abruptly, the 'picture' then disappeared from the mirror's 'screen'.

But then the eerie white light began pulsing again, all around the edges of the mirror, where the glass fitted into its ornately carved hardwood frame.

Pulsing, signifying that ... something, was about to happen.

Without taking his eyes away from the mirror, James reached for another chocolate-chip cookie.

Saturday night: 11:30.

And the night was yet young.

* * *

Saturday night: 11:31.

Heedless as to where his biscuit crumbs were falling, James watched, waiting in awed anticipation as the mirror continued to pulse.

Pulsing its eerie white light, that emanated from all around the edges where the glass fitted into the ornately carved hardwood frame. Pulsing, signifying that ... something, was about to happen.

And then it was suddenly an altogether different scene, that was being 'televised' on the mirror's two-foot high, four-foot wide ultra high-definition 'screen'.

And once again, James was left slack-jawed in disbelieving, delighted amazement.

Once again, courtesy of the mirror, James was brought into the highly 'stimulating' presence of Jennifer and Sharon - the Barstool Blondes.

Jennifer and Sharon, James saw as the mirror panned around, were in nice surroundings, and sitting in very comfortable looking tubular chrome and pale-beige leather chairs. They were looking comfortable and relaxed, each with a long-stemmed, wide-bowled glass of red wine cupped in their hand.

And they were sitting side by side, so as to be able to share the very comfortable pouffe - the matching, square-shaped, two-foot high pale-beige leather squishy-topped footstool - that was propping up their relaxing bare feet.

And on the floor, by the pouffe, were two pairs of high-heeled strappy sandals: one pair in dark blue, and the other pair in dark red.

Then James heard the sudden chirping ringing tone of a mobile phone, and he saw Jennifer reach over and pick up the phone from the glass-topped coffee table beside her. Upon seeing the caller ID, she said to Sharon, "It's Carl."

"Okay, Carl," said Jennifer into her phone, a moment later, after listening to what Carl was saying. "Park your car round the back, in the residents' car park. If the caretaker says anything, tell him that I said to let you in, okay? And we'll see you and Graham in a couple of minutes. Bye, sweetie."

Hmm ... mused James. I wonder where they are? At either Jennifer or Sharon's house or flat, most probably. And I wonder who Carl and Graham are? Jennifer and Sharon's boyfriends, most probably. And, are they about to go out? James wondered. They are both looking drop-dead gorgeous, in their body-hugging one-piece dresses; Jennifer's, dark blue, and Sharon's, dark red ... Ah, hence the matching shoes.

After taking a sip from her glass of red wine, Sharon said, "I've been looking forward to this all week - opening night, at Krystal's. And they've got Disco Dave as DJ. How did they manage that? I thought he was all booked-up in Ibiza, for the summer. Anyway, after how hard we've both worked all week - and especially today - I think we've earned it. Don't you, Jen?"

"Oh, and that's a fact!" replied Jennifer in wholehearted agreement. "And Carl and Graham will be here any minute. Carl said he'd just turned into the street."

The mirror panned down, to two feet above the dark-beige carpeted floor. And then panned around, until the mirror's 'lens' was pointing directly to the relaxing soles of Jennifer and Sharon's side-by-side, pouffe-propped bare feet and, beyond them, their lovely faces. And then zoomed in ... until Jennifer and Sharon's shapely bare soles and beautiful faces were filling up the whole of the mirror's magnificent, two-foot high, four-foot wide ultra high-resolution 'screen'; its breathtaking, just-like-looking-through-a-window 'picture', awesomely realistic.

James thrilled, to the sight.

Thrilled, to the close-up, ultra high-definition view of Jennifer and Sharon's bare soles; and to their dress-and-shoes-matching painted toes, scrunching luxuriantly in relaxed pleasure as they took small, appreciative sips from their glasses of red wine.

Most of all, James thrilled to the amazing fact that he was actually staring at the awesomely displayed soles of their shapely, sexy feet, and looking right at their very attractive, break-your-heart faces while, though apparently staring boldly right back at him, quite evidently Jennifer and Sharon were unaware - totally oblivious - of his ... interest.

Totally oblivious, to the fact that James was avidly watching their every move, and keenly listening to their every word.

Totally oblivious ... of James's voyeurism.

And the effect of this 'stimulation' - of this erotica - upon James, was instantaneous.

Immediately, James's ... sacrificial left hand was once again reaching between his bare, unencumbered legs. And, adoringly staring at Jennifer and Sharon's pouffe-supported bare soles, he just couldn't help himself ... And he was at it again ... Rub, rub, rub ...

Sharon said, "Have you mulled over my idea from earlier, Jen? About taking on two employees, rather than just the one? The second one, who would go—"

Interrupting Sharon mid-sentence, came the sound of the intercom buzzer. It sounded four times in quick succession: short-long-short-long.

"Ah, here's Carl and Graham now," said Jennifer, putting her glass of red wine down on the coffee table beside her. Gracefully and effortlessly she got up from her comfortable looking tubular chrome and pale-beige leather chair, walked over to the wall-mounted intercom and pressed the Answer button.

A male voice said, "Are you and Shaz ready, Jen? Or do you want me and Graham to come up?"

"Me and Shaz will be ready in about ten minutes, Carl. So come on up, the pair of you ... and you can make yourselves useful, for ten minutes," Jennifer instructed.

Jennifer pressed the door-release button for the building's front entrance, and then walked over to her flat's front door and released the catch. She then resumed her seat, once again resting her bare feet upon the ultra comfy, squishy-topped pouffe, right beside Sharon's bare feet; ankles crossed, now, as were Sharon's.

So, it was Jennifer's pad, James mused. And she didn't live in a house, but an upper-storey flat.

And Jennifer had nice taste, he thought. He liked the way she'd kitted her place out: He liked her modern-style, chrome-and-leather furniture; the still-life picture prints on the walls; the brilliantly coloured and beautifully patterned vase on one occasional table, and the attractively shaded lamp, on another. He also liked the subdued, recessed lighting, and the quiet and relaxing colour scheme.

A moment later, when she heard Carl's familiar knock at the door, Jennifer called, "It's open!"

And in walked Jennifer and Sharon's good-looking boyfriends, two mid-twenties, dark haired, six-foot, well-muscled guys: Carl and Graham.

Carl and Graham made a beeline for their beautiful and statuesque girlfriends, Jennifer and Sharon, respectively, and the two couples engaged in a little smooching.

"Love the dress, Jen," Carl said, running his eyes admiringly over Jennifer's dark blue, body-hugging, one-piece Saturday-night outfit.

"Not to mention the shoes!" Graham exclaimed appreciatively. "Just look at those shoes, mate," he enthused, directing Carl's attention to the dark-beige carpeted floor by the pouffe, to Jennifer and Sharon's high-heeled strappy sandals: Jennifer's, dark blue, and Sharon's, dark red.

And then, without even being asked (" ... and you can make yourselves useful, for ten minutes."), Carl and Graham seemed to know just what to do.

James watched avidly, as Carl and Graham took up their respective positions: going to their knees at their girlfriend's feet, before the two-foot high, pale-beige leather squishy-topped pouffe. And then reverently, as though they were being allowed to handle in their unworthy hands, priceless, sacred objects, they solemnly took hold of their respective girlfriend's right foot.

James watched as, as if it was an Olympic event, in unison, and perfectly matching each other's apparently carefully timed and precisely regulated movements, like a two-man synchronised foot-massaging team Carl and Graham began to perform their ... routine.

From their demeanour, James got the distinct impression that this was an oft repeated, routine and regular ... dutiful service, that Carl and Graham so attentively performed for their put-up-on-a-pedestal girlfriends, Jennifer and Sharon.

And right away, James could see that he might learn a thing or two here, some nice little pointers - some valuable lessons. For Carl and Graham's foot-massaging technique was clearly of a highly advanced - 'gold medal' - standard.

For sure, it was more than a cut above his own, comparatively clumsy, disorganised style, as performed on his own foot-massage loving girlfriend, his lovely Debbie.

His lovely Debbie ...

Upon his so suddenly and unexpectedly thinking of Debbie, for just the merest moment of time, James's maliciously manacled mind seemed on the point of a sudden liberation. Seemed about to snap its mental chains, and break free from the diabolical restraints that held it captive. Seemed about to rebel, from its sly subjugation ... Seemed about to challenge, actually challenge, the wicked, tyrannical authority of the mistress of the mirror.