Changes Ch. 01

"Dagmar, please, I was stupid" (Ohmigod, she's nuts, she's nuts somebody get me outta this!!) "and rude, please don't do it, please give me another chance!", I begged, no longer acting now.

"And for what reason would I- ... Ha. Heh, heh! Oh, David. I knew it.", she sneered, at least a little good humouredly now, while looking at the lump in my pants. "Oh yes, I did, boy. I know your type a mile away and I knew it of you from the first time I saw you."

I flushed, turning red as a beet to the sound of her low, dangerously sultry laughter. I couldn't speak at all now. I was completely humiliated and at her mercy, and all I wanted to do was just get out of her lair while I still had anything left to me at all. It seemed impossible at the time that, only a half hour ago, my biggest concern was topping the team sales board again.

"You just bought yourself a reprieve, boy." she said, letting me go and sitting back in her chair again. "Go sit back down."

I did as she said, still red faced and not knowing who I should hate more, her or myself. I was even ashamed of the hope I felt at this 'reprieve' she'd so generously granted me.

She started writing something on a stickit pad, ripping it off when she was done with it and reaching over her desk to slap it on the front of my shirt.

"I'm bound to have questions later on about you during your reprieve. I think it would be in your best interest to be there to answer them."

I peeled the stickit off my shirt tentatively, as if it could bite, and noted the floral background print along with her initials that artistically formed a black and red rose, complete with thorns, in the upper left hand corner. She'd written an address and a time.

"I expect you to be punctual, clean and dressed in decent, clean clothing and youwillbe respectful. I will not have some stupid, stinking dog in my home, do I make myself perfectly clear?"

Thinking of dead Kelley, five to ten years in a maximum security prison and my ever greater desire to get my car the hell out of there, I answered, "Yes, Ma'am."

Hell, I'd have told her any damned thing at that point.

"Then, go. I'm finished with you for now and, if you have a brain in your head, you'll know you have something that you really should attend to. Hm?"

I tried not to leap from the chair and scramble desperately for the door, praying she wouldn't change her mind and decide to hold me there longer, prolonging whatever in hell it was that she just did to me. I prayed she wouldn't say she was calling the cops after all and that my reprieve was all just a joke to fuck with my head and ha, ha, what anidiotI was,...!

I suddenly found myself outside her closed door, back in the din of a few hundred people yapping on the phone all at once. I noticed the fluorescents humming for some reason, I suppose appreciating the normalcy that seemed gone from me now. Some flunky who looked like he couldn't sell a campfire to a freezing man did a double take at the sight of me, faltering badly in his already poorly orated script.

I pulled myself together the best I could, remembering that I had a job to do. I began walking quickly through the aisles with my head down, keeping my mind centered on what came next and praying the cops weren't already nosing around the back lot.

I finally reached my cubicle but, instead of sitting down, I quickly grabbed my stuff, dumping it into my binder along with my headphones before zippering it closed. Sally walked up with a concerned look on her face as I was hastily throwing my old battered, black Levis jean jacket on.

"Is there someth-"

"I gotta go." I blurted, rudely cutting her off. "I'm sorry, but I just have to and there's no,... It's a family thing, I gotta,..."

"Okay, but,...", she trailed off, not liking the fact that her heavy hitter was leaving before the shift was even halfway through.

"Look, I got no choice." I called over my shoulder. "Please don't fire me, but I gotta go even if you do.", I finished, rushing for the outer hall and the stairs that would take me down to the back parking lot.

It wasn't some camera trick, the crazy bitch had actually done it. I could see it all, even in the dark. I glanced furtively around, super paranoid of cops while quickly unlocking the door. Firing my binder into the darkened recesses of the back seat, I threw myself inside, slamming the door shut after me. In my freaked out state, I dropped the keys twice before I managed to get it started with what I hoped was a quiet roar. I remember being actually surprised to make it out of the lot without being suddenly swarmed by police cars as soon as I engaged the clutch.

I felt just a little better when I finished pressure washing the car at the nearestCanwash, nosed into the bay of course. I whipped my shirt off and threw my jacket over my bare back, thoroughly scrubbing everywhere until the shirt was ruined, dousing everything in high pressure hot water and industrial strength suds again afterward.

I felt a little better still when I was able to makeCanadian Tirebefore they closed, paying cash for a new headlight with an unfounded fear that the cops would be there watching the headlight aisle as my paranoia made me see blame and accusation on every strange face that set eyes on me.

I made it home, a dilapidated old mobile trailer sitting parallel with the lonely, rural road, the driveway curving around back to an equally dilapidated garage. I rushed the car into the garage that I called 'The Shack', pulled the door down behind it and bolted for the other shack that I called my house. In the kitchen, I dropped the cap from the bottle I kept in the cupboard and dumped enough whiskey down my gullet in one shot that I almost puked it all back up again.

A minute later, after sliding down to the floor in hopes of maybe seeing the lost cap down there somewhere, I relaxed some more. I had to focus, had to get things in some kind of perspective. The first order of business was to finish off the car.

I went back out and began working quickly, removing the hood to begin filling the dent. After finally getting the stretched sheet metal to stop popping up and down, I filled and sanded, primed and painted the hood black, as I didn't have any bright orange that matched my car. This posed a problem for the header panel. I managed to mix something pretty close, though, and blended it so that the colour change happened at corners and edges and could hide a little bit in the way the light would play over the car's surfaces. After installing the new headlight, I locked the garage down for the night, actually congratulating myself on how fast I got the job done, and rushed back inside to get cleaned up in time to reach Dagmar Alejandro's place, punctually as told.

Trying to finger-comb the rain out of my hair, I scanned the buzzer board in the locked front entry of Dagmar's condominium tower at twelve fifty-nine AM. I was looking for the button to PH5 as two seniors inside the the dimly lit lobby eyed me suspiciously. Finding it, I pressed the button and angrily whipped the rainwater from my hand to the floor while waiting for a response.

This time I was ready, I knew what to expect and my confidence had been shored up by some pizza that I heated up in my microwave oven before I left, my quick success with the car and, of course, the whiskey. She wouldn't get the better of me this time. She just couldn't run around doing this shit to people, least of all me. I mean, who in hell did she think she was? She may have had me at the time, and I was even willing to admit to that if need be, but I'd find wiggle room. I always did, one way or another.

"Hello?" her confident voice answered.

"It's me."

"And who's 'me'?", she demanded.

"Me, me!" I almost yelled at the little speaker in the console. "What, are you expecting a fuckin' milk delivery this time of night?"

There was a short pause before she spoke again, more than demanding now.

"You had better leave that attitude right down there in that lobby, mister! Let's not forget who's holding the cards! Understand!?

"Yes!" I grated.

"Get your skinny ass up here now!"

I opened my mouth to respond just as the bitch buzzed me in. I tore the door open, hard enough to make it bounce shut again with a slam behind me as the two seniors stared with alarmed and disdainful expressions. I stalked to the elevators and viciously jabbed at the button there a few times but, of course, the car was right there as if she'd sent it down for me. I walked in, the door automatically closing behind me as though sealing my fate. I poked the button for the penthouse level and wondered if that was real mahogany on the walls of the elevator car, and why would somebody who could afford to live in a place like this be working at a call center, anyway?

As the elevator car began its ascent, the anger that had sustained me to this point began to run out with each passing floor. My knees started to shake and I allowed my back to slide down the mahogany (?) walls to my haunches, massaging the bridge of my nose and trying to fathom how in hell I could have ever gotten myself into this mess. Then, of course, I remembered as I had to frequently do that evening.Shehad gotten me into this mess.

I didn't feel the elevator car stop. I only knew it arrived at the top floor when I looked up to see the door had already opened. I rose and walked slowly out into the lobby, turning to watch the doors close again, listening to the car descending and abandoning me there to sink or swim. I considered that she must be crazy for the umpteenth time that evening as I began to walk down the hall, my footfalls deep and loud despite the Persian runners that centered the tile floor.

Crazy, crazy, crazy bitch. But she had me and, even worse, she really had got the better of me earlier that day and that didn't sit very well with me. Not many people had ever done what she did, and not for one hell of a long, long time. I had no idea how I'd play the situation as I came to her door, I only wanted to avoid letting her make a knob out of me.Again!

I used the little brass knocker on her door and gazed down the hallway as I waited for her to answer. In theory, I could simply walk down that hallway, summon the elevator and take it down to the lobby. The parking lot. I could be back home to pack the car and be on the highway within two hours and-

The door opened, snapping me out of my little dream world.

At first I didn't think it was even her. Her hair was no longer up, rather down and full. She still wore her business suit, but less the jacket and the two top buttons of her blouse, attracting my eyes before I could even think to cleavage that boasted of large breasts that weren't apparent before. She'd left her heels on, probably because they brought her up to my six foot height and she'd most likely want to be able to look me in the eye. The expression on her now completely different, hair framed, beautiful face was not quite so attractive. She looked me up and down as if to question what right I had even being on God's green Earth.

"Get in here!" she ordered with a tone that could freeze Hell over.

I did and, when she slammed the door shut behind me, I actually heard an echo. We were in an octagonal entry, about ten feet in diameter with a ten foot ceiling and four opposing doors, including the one I'd just come through. Everything was stark white, including the ceramic tiles on the floor that supported no furniture whatsoever. Very nicely done, but very different.

She flipped one side of my unbuttoned jean jacket aside and grabbed up a pinch full of the old, blue flannel work shirt I wore with all the welding burns.

"What's this?"

"It's my shirt." I replied woodenly. "I'm in the middle of a laundry cycle and-"

"I hate it.", she said, letting it go and taking in the rest of me, nodding with an unamused grin. "Great. You came here looking like a retarded migrant worker. Just great."

She turned and walked to the door opposite the one through which I'd entered, adding, "Hang your coat, remove Wild Bill Hickok's boots, and come in. Make yourself a drink, I'll be right with you. You maynotsmoke." she informed, opening the door and walking through. She stopped halfway to turn back, adding, "And get rid of that stupid shirt! Let's see if you can at least get that right, shall we?"

With that, she was gone and, after mocking her last words in a whisper and exaggerated expression, I walked to one of the side doors, which indeed turned out to be a closet where I hung my jacket and stuck my boots. I kept my shirt on anyway because I didn't wear a T-shirt under it at that time of the year.

Wandering through the doorway she'd used a minute earlier, I was struck by the difference between the entry and her front room. The clever use of polished black surfaces, marble and different earth tones made a rich, but cozy atmosphere. The high ceiling disappeared in dark shadows while the lighting level below adequately lit the plants that were everywhere and the furniture, all suggestive of comfortable style and class. Coming through that entry and into there made me feel as though I'd just walked through some tear in reality and ended up,... in the dragons den.

From somewhere, Melissa Etheridge was softly singing out that"we got nowhere to go"and I could easily sympathize.

Spying her bar, I walked over to it, warily looking around myself as though Dagmar could spring from some dark, hidden corner at any moment. I found something that I was pretty sure was rye, but with a non English label (Spanish?) that I'd never seen and couldn't decipher. I removed the cap and took a sip. It was very good rye. The psycho bitch had style, I had to give her that as I looked around again, making my way to the U-shaped sectional with a long, wooden stand wrapped all the way around its outside perimeter. I sat, feeling slightly better for the sip I took, taking another more generous one while trying not to remind myself of how bad it was just to be in her office, in a relatively public setting.

Presently, Her Royal Freakishness returned and was about to say something when she stopped and shot an angry scowl. She hustled the rest of the way over to rudely grab the bottle from my hand.

"I said to make yourself a drink, not to guzzle it from the bottle like a barnyard pig!"

She put it back on top of her bar and came back around to sit opposite me, legs crossed, back straight, perched there much like a teacher, or a gargoyle. She proceeded to simply stare with that cold expression of hers, holding my eyes.

A sibling and I had often played 'staredown' as children and I'd won a lot more often than not, however, my angered indignation dissipated quickly once I knocked on her door and I found that Dagmar brought a whole new level to that little game. Just the same, I resolved to outlast her patience with me, to stand on and maintain some level of integrity with her, somehow.

Unfortunately, I was acutely aware of the material straining at that button on her white blouse and found part of my mind vaguely wondering just how big her tits were. I didn't dare try for a closer look because God only knew what she'd do and, besides, it really wasn't productive for me to be thinking of my blackmailer in that way.

Finally, to my short lived gratification, she spoke.

"Why did you flout me at work all the time?"

This caught me right off guard and I shifted my eyes to the floor, replying, "I dunno."

She leaned forward and suddenly slapped my face hard. I couldn't believe how fast she did it, even turning my head to the right with the force of her strike. I wanted to keep looking that way in order to avoid looking at her, to avoid some accidental, although silent communication featuring my great need to kill her right then.

"Don't lie to me! Your first lie, one slap. Your second, two slaps, your third,..." She took my chin, somewhat gently turning my face to hers again. "Well, I'm sure even you get the picture, hm?"

"Apparently, you should just be happy I'm even looking at you."

As soon as those words left my mouth, I regretted them. For her part, her hand dropped from my chin as her face went through a range of expressions from confusion, disbelief, insult, then finally to anger before she shot up and left the room without a word.

I sat, mortified and wondering what she would do to make me pay for that, but also fiercely proud that I'd had the nerve to do it, that I'd showed her-

She came stomping back in from the hallway, moving very quickly with something in her hand. It looked like the handle end of a whip that somebody'd ruined by cutting it in half and unbraiding it. The next thing I knew, she was right in my lap, her knees straddling my thighs. She pressed the handle of the ruined whip to my mouth and grabbed my throat. Instinctively, I raised my arms to get her the hell off me.

"Don't eventhinkabout raising a hand to stop me!" she seethed."I'll beat you with this flogger till you scream! I WILL BEAT YOU UNTIL YOU CRY, DAVID! AND YOU WILL STAND THERE! YOU WILL TAKE IT! BECAUSE YOUR ONLY ALTERNATIVE IS A BIG, LONELY GUY NAMED BUBBA, SITTING SOMEWHERE IN A PRISON CELL WAITING FOR A WIFE TO DROP IN HIS LAP!",she shouted in my face, her full, red lips sneering as she continued."DO I HAVE TO EXPLAIN IT AGAIN!? DO I HAVE TO MAKE IT ANY SIMPLER FOR YOU!?"

This was the kind of thing I was afraid of, and I was afraid. I sat in shock, eyes wide and locked on her face, not daring to move a muscle other than the ones I needed to hastily shake my head.

"AND WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS!?"

Mercifully, she'd removed her hand from my throat and the flogger from my mouth, grabbing a handful of my shirt instead. She began tearing it off of me by the fistful, piece by piece, in a rage, shouting and emphasizing her words with a violent yank.

"I TOLD YOU - to get RID OF - this FUCKING - STUPID - SHIRT!!"

She was totally tripping now and it was all I could do to not try to ward her away, to keep my face out of the way of her flying fists.

By the time she was done and I was barebacked, my shirt now only scattered rags around the area, she seemed to have calmed down a little. She got off me, standing suddenly and glaring at me. After this display of shock and awe, all I could do was stare back, hoping it was over and dreading whatever reasons she had me there. So far, this was indeed making my time in her office seem preferable.

Then I noticed that the strained button on her blouse had come undone during her maniacal attack. A lot of cleavage and a fair amount of an incredibly white, lace bra showed. Her breasts heaved as she angrily brushed her hair back out of her face and I couldn't believe I'd be distracted by that at such a time.

I was scared shitless, even though she was a woman. I'd never hit a woman in my life, would have a damned difficult time doing it and, if I did, Dagmar was far from the woman to start with, considering what she was holding over me. Anyway, I had a feeling she wouldn't have done that if she wasn't able to somehow back it up.

I tried not to allow my eyes to go back to her tits, but they did anyway, despite the fact that only minutes ago I was imagining myself choking the life out of the bitch, choking her until her head exploded. She was an emotional roller coaster ride without safety restraints.

She walked a few paces away, thumb and finger on her forehead, elbow sticking out and staring at the floor, obviously trying to simmer down. She propped her other hand on her hip, striking a very sexy pose and (Oh, fuck no, what the hell!?) that's when I started to get hard.

She finally went to the bar and, as she mixed herself a drink, tersely ordered over her shoulder, "Stand."