48 Hours on Blue Bayou Pt. 18: Julie

My visit to the Opera offices is quite formal, something Butterfly warned me about. From my experience with the Minister, I am not about to be flippant or brash about anything! All the management staff are lined up in a large conference room. I find out later that it's the only conference room. Butterfly introduces me as the liaison with the Empress and doesn't mention the previous Opera Boss Slave at all. The woman in charge, Butterfly tells me, is the bookkeeper-treasurer-accounting department. Since the Mistress in charge has been the Honorary Treasurer, this makes sense. She introduces the staff by rank, using only their family names. I suspect that nobody expects we will become fast friends.

There is a short tour of the offices, and I notice how orderly everything is. I do not see any posters or banners advertising our next production. Each staffer has offered to be "helpful" or "full cooperation," but no one has mentioned a question or problem to be helpful or cooperative about. I do not meet the Artistic Director.

Our return to the Empress' headquarters is uneventful, with Butterfly venturing her idea that I made a good impression. I am starting to understand that this Body Slave to the Empress is much more than just a slim young woman. She has the knack of saying nothing until saying just a few words of substance.

I am deposited in a sitting area outside Empress' office for just a moment before Empress arrives and sweeps me into her inner sanctum. In a few moments, she has all my impressions of the institutional office and staff. There is an instant of silence and I realize it is time for my confession. I slip from the chair and kneel before her desk, my head bowed, as is proper.

"My Empress, this slave has erred. In the car going to the Opera, this slave thought about escape. This slave spoke to your Body Slave about escape. Your slave enticed your Body Slave to leave your service. It was only your Body Slave's wise counsel that instructed this slave in this error."

It's about as short and complete a confession as I can imagine. No background. No reasons. No extenuating circumstances. I am frozen in Position One, my mind a blank.

There are a few moments of silence, and then Empress comes around her desk and strokes my head and neck. "What have you learned from this ripple in time?" she asks quietly.

My emotions give way and I begin to sob, tears falling from my eyes. "It was an illusion, Empress. This is my reality."

Again, a pause. Another stroke from the Empress and my sobs and tears stop.

"You will have to inform your Master, of course, because he is the one who has your best interests at heart. We will not speak of this again. Do you understand?"

For an instant, I am surprised that the Empress will not be my judge and executioner, but then it is clear: only a Master or Mistress can judge his or her slave because only they are party to the power exchange.

My answer is obvious: "Yes, Empress, this slave understands."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter Thirty-Two: Ladies who Lunch

Empress returns to her desk and announces my afternoon schedule. "I have invited four First Ladies to join us for a light luncheon. You do not need to know their status. You do need to impress them as you have impressed me. Do you understand?"

It's just as Pat had described: first to the ladies and then to the men. I rush to answer, "Yes, Empress, four First Ladies to impress. Thank you, Empress."

My mood jerks around from the terror of my confession to a bright confidence. I have passed the Empress' tests so far. If I hadn't, there would be no luncheon. My Inner Goddess is grinning and chanting "You go, girl!"

Empress adds that these First Ladies come from different generations of leaders in Hong Kong society, but all are leaders in their fields. For an instant, I wonder if any of them, or their men, have been targets or associates of my Master. There is no one to ask, so I drop that concept.

As if summoned by a thought, Butterfly enters and, with her arm under mine, lifts me and guides me out of the office and to a small apartment. I shed my blouse and skirt, freshen up in the bathroom, and am startled by the dress Butterfly is holding up for me. She announces, with a proud smile, "We've just gotten this today. It's from KAUFMANFRANCO, which is Ken Kaufman and Isaac Franco. They like to claim a 'mix of sophistication and edge.' They're mostly into blacks and whites, with luxurious fabrics and embellishment. It was this white halter with a keyhole cutout in front and a low back or a leather item, possibly sprayed with sequins."

"But, my bra will show through, probably both front and back," I exclaim.

"That's easy," the unflappable Butterfly announces. "No bra."

Have I mentioned that I'm not a moron? My mind assimilates a flock of points. Empress knew about the dress. She is putting me out for study, but not for failure. Igor's exercises have improved my posture and chest muscles so much I have been secretly proud of my new bustline. I add the bra to my morning costume and slip into the dress. I wiggle a bit to properly fit my breasts into the dress. It falls to a few inches above my knees, about the length I wouldnothave worn in my old law office.

"This is much better than leather with sequins," I observe. Butterfly giggles for just a moment.

I take a deep breath and tell this Body Slave that I have confessed my morning crime. Her expression doesn't flicker at all as she waves a hand, dismissing the affair.

I am delivered to a private dining room just in time to help Empress welcome four ladies, two a bit older than I and two much older. Empress introduces me by my first name, adding that Martin has brought me to Hong Kong only recently. Each lady smiles and welcomes me, the younger pair adding a nice kiss on my cheek. While the older pair are clearly British, I'm not sure about the younger women, named Rose and Sharon.

I make a small joke about them being paired horticulturally, but it goes past them. I have to explain about one of the finest flowers, the rose of Sharon, mentioned in the Bible. The Empress adds that, although it isn't a rose, South Korea's national flower is called the rose of Sharon. Happily, this sally is allowed to pass and we troop to the table, where Empress seats me at her right and the other women seat themselves easily.

There are the expected compliments on the centerpiece and appreciations of the Empress' hospitality. Empress accepts them graciously and nods to the servers. The first course is a seafood salad and I take a few sips of the chilled Chardonnay accompanying it. In a moment, my Inner Goddess is up and shrieking at my stupidity: getting drunk during an interview? I switch to the sparkling water in the next goblet.

The conversation flows easily. These friends have lots of friends and activities in common, I learn, and they are relaxed about recounting escapades. I notice several featured tricks they have pulled on their men. I contribute laughter and "expressions of joy" at appropriate places, but I have no stories to tell. I expect that my experiences onBlue Bayouwould not fit in here.

The soup is a kind of gazpacho, nicely seasoned (to my taste), although Francine, one of the older women, chides the Empress that her chef must have run out of spices halfway through preparations. I am a bit surprised at this sally, but Empress waves a hand, laughs a bit, and offers to swap chefs with Francine. Francine blushes a bit, waves her hand as well, and backs off.

At the garden salad course, the talk turns to me, gently at first, but then more insistent. I mention my paralegal background, and nobody seems impressed. I skip the events of theBlue Bayou,saying only I met Martin on a cruise. Francine tries to get me to admit to playing a trick or two on Martin, but I dodge that one. I try to depict Martin as a gentleman, courteous and fun to be with.

Wrong! There is instant hilarity around the table, and Rose manages to gasp, "That's not the Martin we know!" I fire back an inquiry about how did Rose — or any of the ladies —come to know so much about "my Martin?" Empress does another hand wave and soothes the situation by suggesting that "the mysteries of men must be left to the mysterious men."

I think that's a cute saying, and express that opinion, and the conversation shifts pretty quickly to some politics on the island. I decide to drop into this talk a tidbit about having heard that something was being done about better rapid transit service on the south side of the island. Sharon and Marie (the other older woman) match my tidbit with some of their own, items I squirrel away for my Master.

The main course is a baked stuffed salmon on a bed of rice with some grilled vegetables. I am reminded of my first meal on my Master's yacht, but, of course, manage to keep that to myself. The ladies fall to discussing the exploits of another of society's belles, a woman who is spending more of her man's wealth in the gambling casinos of Macau than she is on clothes, an effort which is keeping whole couture houses afloat, it seems. Some of this seems a little incredible, but I'm just a paralegal, so what do I know. At least, I know enough to keep silent on this talk.

While the other ladies have used chopsticks easily for the salad and salmon, I have relied on standard western knife and fork. Eventually, someone asks about this. I essay a wave of my hand and a comment that "my Martin" is teaching me, one food at a time. Even the Empress laughs at this one!

Of course, while everyone announces that they just couldn't do dessert, everyone takes at least a small slice of the strawberry cheesecake the server dishes out. Conversation noticeably declines as these slices slowly vanish.

Butterfly appears, wearing a long blue cheong-sam which clings to her body very attractively, with the coffee and tea service. With a small grin, I see my tea is Constant Comment. Francine and the Empress take Lord Grey tea, while American coffee is the choice of the others. Now, the conversation shifts to expressions of pleasure and gratitude to the Empress along with wishes for me for a happy and long life together with Martin. Eventually, the Empress makes sure each lady is well-prepared for her next appointment and we escort the group to the front door.

Empress takes my hand and we head back to her office. Butterfly is there with a glass of sparkling water for each of us and then my "debriefing" begins. Unlike my first meal with my Master, I am primed for this discussion. I have a few small observations of Francine, Marie, Rose, and Sharon. I express some disbelief in some of the tales they told about their men, and a larger amount of disbelief in the stories about the belle of the gambling and couture houses. I indicate some interest in the business tales discussed. I decide to skip the chopsticks discussion, but Empress focusses right in on it.

"No, my dear," she says earnestly, "you handled that exactly right. There's no sense in hiding a skill you're not yet good at. The point is that you'll have to be better at it next time you dine with these ladies, unless it's at an American Fourth of July barbeque party.

"Now, I thought you handled the disgraceful gossip about the gambling very well. You didn't ask for any of the lurid details they were ready to display for you and you didn't express any judgement about the unfortunate lady. That was exactly right for this society. Of course, you must know that the whole story, even those lurid details, was made up just for this occasion. It was another of my little tests for you, and you passed quite well. I'm sure Sharon and Marie, who made up most of it, were a bit irritated they didn't get to the really juicy parts of the story."

Well! Score one for the newbie!

"All right, Julie. It's time for you to return to your Master. I hope you'll give him a good report about your time here. I've enjoyed almost all of it, and I will be arranging with your Master for an evening with the men."

The Empress stands and extends a hand to me. I grasp it, firmly but not tightly, and drop a curtsy to this ruler of Hong Kong society. Butterfly, of course, appears and escorts me to the front door, where the driver from this morning offers a smile and a salute as he settles me in the limo.

"Just a seatbelt this time, Ma'am." I giggle a bit and thank him for the courtesy.

Author's Note: How will her Master, his lieutenants, and Igor, Pat, and Anne react to Julie's crime? What would be a "symmetrical" correction for such a crime? Your Suggestions and Comments are welcome, of course, and may show up in Julie's future.

—J Spe