A Slave and Her Boy Pt. 02

Regardless, Margaret was having the time of her life. As we passed by the barricades, she laid her head on my shoulder again, whispering into my ear.

"Thank you again. This is fun." I smiled as happily as I could.

The ballroom was rich. Well, the people in it were rich, and the ballroom was decorated like it. Black curtains hung floor to ceiling around the room. Servants were slipping in and out behind them, carrying trays of appetizers and drinks. A bar took up most of the wall on one side, several slaves working under the supervision of a bartender. People milled about the room, standing in tight little circles talking and laughing to one another. I knew absolutely no one here, and had no desire to. It was the most 'social' of social situations, something that was absolutely contrary to my sensibilities. I deferred to Margaret's judgment.

"Where do we go?" I asked her. She didn't reply. "Margaret?" I nudged her, catching her attention. She had been distracted by the sights of the room.

"Hmm? Oh, I'm not sure, sir. Is there anything I can fetch you?" she asked. I sighed. I was already thinking about how to excuse us and leave.

"A drink of any kind, please." I tried to hide my sour attitude, but my words carried more irritation than I had intended. She nodded, casting her eyes down.

"Yes sir." Margaret slipped away into the crowd, and I stood to the side of the room, hands in my uncomfortably small pockets.

I was starting to consider going to find Margaret when Bella spotted me. She walked swiftly and confidently to me, heels clicking. She wore an evening gown as nice as Margaret's, but cerulean blue. Her manservant followed a short distance behind her, a strikingly tall, muscular slave she had owned for several years.

"I didn't think you'd come." My sister said, hugging me.

"I didn't think I would either. Good to see you, Bella. Hey Lurch." I looked up to her manservant.

"His name is Lurtz." She corrected me. "You know that."

"Yeah. I do." She rolled her eyes. Like all siblings, we excelled at antagony.

"Where's your girl?" Bella asked, glancing around.

"Uh, I sent her to grab drinks."

"Are you enjoying her?" Bella flicked her wrist, dismissing Lurtz, who strode off quietly. He never said much, but Bella didn't keep him around for his brains. She had once told me that physical intimidation was an important part of business dealing. The big muscly man certainly had a physical presence. She didn't let me answer. "I'll tell you the truth," Bella pulled out her cellphone, swiping left on a call from 'VP Sales', "I had considered breeding her with Lurtz before I gave her to you. They'd make beautiful babies." The casualness she spoke with reminded me of my father. She made my skin crawl.

"I knew you had an ulterior motive. You always do."

"I can't just buy my little brother a birthday present?"

"Nothing you do is one dimensional," Or without profit, I thought.

"Well, I have to be going. Breeding is still an option. Unless you've been enjoying that aspect of her for yourself?" My face reddened. I didn't answer, and Bella laughed. "Alright. I'll see you later. I'm giving a speech tonight! You should find your table soon."

When I found Margaret, a whole lot of blood left my head to rush somewhere else. She was leaned over, elbows resting on the bar. The slim, skintight dress gripped her hips perfectly. It was almost enough to make me dizzy. The woman next to her caught my attention a second later, another slave a few years older than Margaret. This woman was wearing an evening gown that seemed to be a couple of sizes too small, but she looked just as inviting. The two were in conversation, almost trying to be secretive as they leaned in close to whisper to one another. Our drinks were resting on the bar in front of them, forgotten by my slave. I slid up next to her.

"Margaret? Everything okay? Who's your friend?" They both jumped as if startled, pulling away from their secretive conference. Margaret smiled politely, but the woman next to her looked mortified, staring down at her feet.

"Oh, we just met," Margaret explained. "I was telling her about you. How kind you are." Margaret smiled again.

"Oh." I was taken aback. "Is that a secret? You guys were whispering."

"No." Margaret's smile didn't fade, and I couldn't help but feel intrigued. I looked back and forth between them. The older slave was beautiful and tall, nearly a head higher than Margaret and almost as tall as me. She risked looking up at me, and our eyes met.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Winnie." She replied. The woman's mood was less talkative than she had been with Margaret. Not rude, just cold.

"Well, Winnie, you'd better find your master. Margaret and I are going to sit down." Winnie nodded and left the bar in a hurry. I watched her leave with squinted eyes, unsure.

"What were you two really talking about?" I asked.

"I will tell you, sir, at your bidding, but I'd like to request permission to tell you later." Margaret touched my hand, looking into my eyes sincerely. I was confused, but I trusted her.

"I didn't... I didn't realize it was a big deal. You can tell me later." I squeezed her hand.

Margaret found our table by asking the 'Mater Dee', who directed us to a table, and a plaque with my name on it. Next to it was a reserved spot for my slave, sans name plaque. I pulled her seat out for her, which drew glances from the already seated diners around us. Most at the table were both fabulously wealthy and unnoteworthy, but two stuck out. One older man was so loud and boisterous, I was immediately annoyed.

He introduced himself as Stanley McEachern. Stains covered his shirt from spilled drinks that his massive gut had caught. He told stories about business interactions where he had cleverly outsmarted competitors and wisely guided foolish partners. Beside him sat a young female slave about Margaret's age, hands politely folded and eyes down. As we sat, Margaret pointed surreptitiously toward the young woman.

"I know her," She said, "From training." I looked across the table towards them.

"Please don't make me introduce us." I said. Margaret smiled, shaking her head.

The other person I noticed was a younger, leaner man, perhaps in his late twenties. Sharply and immaculately dressed, I could tell he didn't care for Mr. McEachern either, rolling his eyes every time the annoying old man embellished another story. What caught my eye about this second man was his slave. Beside him sat Winnie, the same woman Margaret had spoken to at the bar.

The name plaques had fallen luckily, and I happened to be right next to Winnie. I nodded to her and said hello as I sat down. Her Master took exception to that.

"Do you have something you need to say to my slave?" He asked, coldly.

"Oh, uh, no. We met earlier. She was talking to my slave." I answered. He gave me a suspicious look, then narrowed his eyes at Winnie. He didn't say anything else.

We sat for a while, the whole table patiently enduring Mr. McEachern's endless stories. As he was winding down a seemingly endless story about firing a tardy employee, Margaret tugged on my sleeve. I leaned over and she whispered in my ear.

"May we switch seats, sir? If it pleases you. I'd like to sit next to Winnie."

"I suppose one of us should enjoy this." I replied, beginning to stand from the table, I stopped myself, remembering the cold attitude of Winnie's master. I decided I should ask him first.

"My slave has asked to sit next to yours. Do you mind if I accommodate?" He didn't look at me when he responded.

"Why not? Someone should enjoy this." I laughed, and he smiled the slightest amount. As we traded seats, Margaret reached over, taking Winnie's hand and smiling at her.

With the commotion of switching seats, Mr. McEachern noticed me, and he called out to me. I held back a groan of irritation, preparing myself to socially interact.

"So young man, what's your name?"

"Gerrard Morgan." I answered tersely. I hoped he would be bored me with me and go back to telling his stupid stories.

"Ah, same name as our hostess, Ms. Isabella Morgan. I don't like to brag, but I happen to be very close to her." I doubted that. I knew Bella pretty well, and She would hate him even more than I did.

"She's my sister." I replied. He laughed, leaning forward and practically yelling.

"She doesn't have any siblings! She runs the company alone. Everyone knows that."

"Okay." A scattered and half hearted laugh echoed astound the table. I didn't care what he said, and I desperately wanted to bolt for the door.

"Where'd you get your slave, Mr. Morgan?" He asked, still too loud.

"She was a gift." I kept my voice monotone, throwing every sign I could that I didn't want to talk, but Mr. McEachern was not taking the hint.

"Where was she trained? She's gorgeous."

"Thanks. Mason and something. Margaret, where were you trained?" I turned to her, and she pulled her focus away from Winnie.

"Mason and Brockeridge, sir," She replied politely.

"That." I motioned to her, bored. Mr. McEachern tilted his head to the side.

"Really," He said. "Then, girl, you must know my slave." He gestured to the young woman seated next to him. Margaret answered, as succinctly and politely as she could.

"Yes sir, I know Lena quite well." McEachern laughed loudly again.

"Well, Mr. Morgan, I didn't believe you, but I guess that proves it! You know, that reminds me..." I prepared myself to ignore another long story. Margaret resumed her conversation with Winnie, and I twirled my salad fork with one hand, my eyes unfocused.

"Did you hear me, Mr. Morgan?" Mr. McEachern called. I huffed, but tried to hide my irritation.

"Oh, no, I'm sorry, phased out there for a second. What was that?"

"My slave. She was top of her class two years in a row at Mason and Brockeridge. Top of the top." He smiled with satisfaction at his brag, crossing his arms smugly. "Making her one of the most highly sought after slaves in the country."

"Cool."

He continued on for a while, talking about the pains he had gone to in acquiring his slave, and how expensive she was, and how well trained.

I planned to keep ignoring him as much as I could, but I remembered something. A smile crossed my face as I remembered a conversation Margaret and I had. For once, I didn't mind talking. I didn't even feel my anxiety as I spoke, only the thrill of... something.

"Mr. McEachern." I grabbed his attention, and he lowered his glass, looking across the table at me.

"Yes, Mr. Morgan?" He replied.

"You said your slave was top of her class for two of her six years at Mason and boys?" I asked.

"Yes indeed." He replied with a proud smile.

"And you purchased her only recently?"

"Two weeks ago." He replied. McEachern was curious now, raising one eyebrow at me.

"Then she graduated in the same class as Margaret." I said, motioning to my slave, who was now looking at me with raised eyebrows. She knew exactly where I was going.

"Hmm, yes, they know each other. What's your point?" McEachern asked.

"Margaret," I stared straight into McEachern's eyes as I spoke. "Were you ever top of your class at Mason's?" I waited for the kill shot. Margaret took a deep breath.

"Four of my six years, sir. Obviously Lena was top for the other two."

A silence settled over the table, and I felt my stomach flip flop. What I had just done was so outside of my normal interactions it terrified me, but my irritation had outgrown my anxiety. McEachern's face faded into a scowl. He was bright red. No one spoke.

Laughter broke the silence. I looked to my right, where Winnie's master slapped the table. He started with a low chuckle, but couldn't contain it long. As he finished his bout of laughter, he took a drink and spoke.

"Taste of your own medicine, McEachern." McEachern looked from him to me.

"Yes, well, a very impressive slave, Mr. Morgan. I attempted to acquire her, as it turns out. My dealings were outmaneuvered by..." His eyes lit when he connected the dots. "God... damn..."

"I want to thank everyone for coming tonight," Bella gave closing remarks from a stage at the front of the room. I had no idea what charity we had been supporting, but apparently we had done a fantastic job. I clapped politely with everyone else. Mr. McEachern was never quiet, but had spoken significantly less toward the end of the evening.

"And I want to thank my favorite person in the room." Bella continued. "My little brother, Gerry. A lot of you probably don't know him. I had to work a miracle to drag him out of his cave." The audience laughed politely. She waved to me, and I waved back, drawing eyes from everyone around the table. The applause ended, and I couldn't leave quickly enough. Not as quickly as McEachern though, who gripped his slave by the wrist and practically dragged her from the room as soon as the lights came up. As I was preparing to exit with Margaret, a hand on my shoulder caused me to turn. It was Winnie's master, and she stood obediently behind him.

"Most people wouldn't have been so crude and direct," He said, "But I loved watching that man get shown up. I'm William Henry." He handed me a business card. "Be in touch if you need anything." I didn't reply, and he left without another word.

Outside, I handed my paper slip to the valet, and he disappeared to find my car. Margaret clung to my arm firmly. She seemed distracted, her eyes gazing out across the street absently.

"Hey," I nudged her gently with my elbow, "Did you have fun?"

"Yes sir." She was quick with her reply, but her face said otherwise.

"I thought you wanted to be here?" I asked. "You don't seem happy."

"I am extremely grateful you brought me." Margaret glanced up at me briefly, smiled, and her face fell again. I was going to ask when My train of thought was interrupted by a shout from Bella.

"Gerry!" She came up holding her dress so she could move quickly. Lurtz followed behind, his long gait casually matching her pace. "I'm so glad you could come." She said, holding her arms out. Margaret obediently moved aside as we hugged.

"Thanks for making it happen. Margaret appreciates it too." Bella looked at the young slave with a smile, touching her arm.

"Of course," She said, "Take care of my brother, would you? He can't do it himself." Bella winked at Margaret and I rolled my eyes.

"One more thing," Bella added. "I saw Mr. McEachern leave quickly. Did the table talk turn sour?"

"A bit. How did you know?" Isabella tried to keep a straight face, but burst out laughing.

"Bella....." I glared at her.

"I knew he was gonna brag at some point." She said, "I had to have some excuse to buy her!" Bella waved a hand at Margaret.

"You put me at the table with him on purpose. To embarrass him." Bella wiped away tears from her laughter. "You are a conniving bastard." I shook my head.

"I get it honestly. Plus," Bella laughed. "He deserved it."

"I played right into it too," I told the story of our interaction. She forced Margaret to describe, in detail, how McEachern had reacted on hearing that my slave was ranked higher than his.

"That couldn't have gone any better." Bella shook her head. "Literally perfect. You," She winked at Margaret, "Were worth every penny."

Margaret leaned on the window, head resting on her arm. It was dark, and every streetlight we passed lit her up briefly, flicking by endlessly as we drove through the city.

"So, what's the secret?" I asked, glancing nervously at her. I had expected her to be happy and excited. After all, the whole thing was her idea.

"Winnie's master treats her cruelly." Her voice was low and distant.

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that." She caught me off guard. I don't know what I had expected. Thinking back, he did seem a bit weird around her. "Is that what she was telling you?"

"Yes sir." Margaret stared through the window as we drove out of the city, forlorn.

"I wish I could help her." I offered a sympathetic glance, but Margaret didn't look in my direction.

"You could." she answered. My stomach knotted a bit. I could tell this conversation was going somewhere I wouldn't enjoy.

"I'm uh, not sure about that. I can't exactly chastise him about how he treats his property."

Memories were beginning to pop up about my father. 'Winnie's master treats her cruelly.' Margaret's words replayed in my head alongside distant memories of cold cruelty. My old man certainly fit that description.

"You could buy her." Margaret looked at me now, her face serious. She was determined. My stomach ache worsened as I considered her suggestion.

"Maybe. We don't know if he's interested in selling." I replied. Margaret leaned towards me, resting her head on my shoulder.

"Did he give you a card? I saw him hand you something." She gazed up at me with big, sad eyes. Her freckles were adorable, and I could almost say yes to anything she asked for. I sighed deeply, thinking before responding. After a few seconds, she withdrew.

"I'm sorry sir, I've overstepped. I have no right to ask." She bowed her head.

"Relax." I reached over and set a hand on her knee. She looked up at me hopefully. "I'll -... I'll look into it. I guess I have money and I mean, he seemed to like me."

"Really?" Her eyes widened, hopeful.

"Yeah, I'll just have to... call him." I fell silent. "Tomorrow." Margaret smiled, pulling my arm towards her, clasping my hand tightly.

"Thank you."

Once home, I retired to my bedroom without saying anything. It was late, almost midnight, but that was normal for me. I stayed up pretty frequently on my computer. After removing my coat, I sat on my bed, and pulled out the business card William Henry had given me. It made me anxious just to think about calling him. As anxious as I had ever been about any social interaction. Except for embarrassing Mr. McEachern, I remembered. I had been confident and cool when I did that.

I heard a knock at the door and prompted Margaret to open. When she did, I saw that she wore only her underwear, a matching set of bra and panties.

"Is there anything you'd like before bed, sir?" She asked, smiling. Innocently, she crossed one arm under her chest, lifting her breasts slightly. I stared for a second, drinking in the picture of her perfect body.

"No, thank you Margaret," I replied. Her smile dropped, and she began to close the door.

"Yes sir. Goodnight," She said.

"Wait, hold up a second. Come in," I stopped her, motioning for her to sit on the bed next to me. Her face lit up slightly, and she came to join me, stepping lightly around the piled laundry on the floor. I felt embarrassed for the millionth time at the state of the home I kept. Without Margaret, the whole place would be a wreck, as it had been before she moved in and began systematically cleaning my living areas. Unfortunately, my bedroom had not yet received her tidy attention.

"I gather that you're trying to get my attention." I said, Forcing myself to look into her eyes. She bit her lip and shrugged.

"Only if I interest you, sir."

"You do." I sighed, rubbing my face with my hands. "It's just that I'm going through some stuff right now. I don't know. I feel weird about it." Margaret's freckled nose scrunched with disappointment.

"Is it because I threw up on you?" She asked, her voice sad.

"No. Maybe? I don't think so. That wasn't your fault anyway." I sighed again in frustration. I could never seem to say what I wanted to. "It's got nothing to do with that. It feels more like just... stuff from my past. My dad and all that."

"Yes sir." She waited obediently for me to speak. Clearly she didn't understand, and I was no good at explaining.

"I'm sorry. I'm just uncomfortable with it right now." I said.

"May I request something of you, sir?" She reached out and took my hand.