Parallel Lives Pt. 03

"Yep," Johnny confirmed. "I guess that was the moment it all fell into place. I knew as soon as I saw her stood there in only her underwear that she had only one thing on her mind. She wanted to fu... I mean, she wanted to um... y'know..."

He hastily censored himself, mindful of his upmarket surroundings, but Martinsen clearly understood what he was about to say.

"I'll bet they were expensive," Martinsen chuckled.

"From the finest lingerie designer in London, apparently," Johny replied. "She said she bought them especially for last night so that she could look nice and sexy for me, to get me in the mood. She even offered her knickers to me as a sort of souvenir of our time together, can you believe that?"

He went on to give his boss a blow-by-blow account of his encounter with Mrs. Connor in her hotel suite, though he left the more explicit details to her imagination. He told her about the elegant Art Deco interior, the art and sculpture on display in the room, and of the huge bathroom with its enormous shower. After a while the conversation then turned to Mrs. Connor's unconventional parting gift.

"She gave you what?" Mrs. Martinsen exclaimed in disbelief, uncertain whether or not she'd heard him correctly.

"A chastity device," Johnny confirmed. "I mean, the barefaced bloody cheek of it, after what she'd all but forced me do with her last night."

"Are you... y'know... thinking of wearing it sometime?"

"Certainly not!" he scoffed in reply. "And no, I'm not going to let you see it."

But he went on to describe the antique solid silver device to his boss.

"Must've cost her a few quid,"she responded in astonishment that the American businesswoman would proffer such an expensive token of appreciation for a one-night stand."Or should I say, cost her a few bucks. Solid silver with amethysts and mother of pearl - that kind of craftswomanship, certainly doesn't come cheap! No wonder you don't want to wear it! I mean, I wouldn't want to have what, two, maybe three grand's worth of precious metal and gemstones stuffed in my undies!"

"That isn't why I don't want to wear it," Johnny responded flatly.

"Yes, er... of course," his boss replied.

"Besides, it wasn't even meant for me in the first place," he went on. "She'd originally bought it for her son."

"Her son?"

"Apparently," Johnny continued, lowering his voice. "My erm... y'know... reminds her of his... y'know."

Johnny's boss erupted into a sudden bout of uproarious laughter.

"Oh my God! For real?"

"My penis is apparently a facsimile of his," Johnny confirmed. "She peeped on him in his shower one afternoon, and when she saw mine she commented on how similar mine is to his. She bought the chastity device for him as a gift, but in the end decided not to give it to him."

"So she kept hold of it and took it with her thousands of miles across the Atlantic on the off-chance that she gets lucky with a nice looking boy to give it to instead?" Martinsen concluded, clearly unconvinced. "Nah, I don't buy that for a second - she bought it for you, not her son. And she probably got it from some antique jeweller in Burlington Arcade yesterday afternoon, not somewhere in L.A. several years ago. She clearly thought you were worth it though. What'll you do with it? I mean, if you're not going to wear it?"

"I don't know," Johnny said with a slight sigh. Hearing his boss's reasoning that she had bought it for him all along did shed a rather different light on the matter. "I mean, I could sell it - you said yourself it could be worth at least a couple of grand - but I dunno, I might keep hold of it. My mother always told me never to turn down a gift, even if it's not something you actually want."

"I think you should wear it," Martinsen said wistfully, briefly imagining her attractive PA wearing the expensive silver and jewel encrusted chastity device on his penis instead of the cheap plastic one she'd seen him in earlier that day when he'd abruptly taken his trousers and pants down in her office.

She immediately cast that thought away, concluding that it was inappropriate for her to retain that memory. But then, he didn't have to show her, and it wasn't the sort of sight one can easily un-see.

"I don't know," Johnny mused as he took a sip of what was probably the best cup of coffee he'd ever had.

"At least try it on for size," Martinsen suggested.

"Maybe."

* * * * * *

Johnny found Max curled up in the armchair as he let himself back into his flat. He looked around the diminutive abode, and concluded that maybe it would be nice to find a small house now that he would soon be in a position to be able to afford it. Since his flat was rented he didn't feel all that attached to it, and buying rather than renting would give him some sense of security - an important first step on the property ladder. And his boss was right about Max maybe enjoying a small garden to prowl around in, or even just a small balcony to sun himself on.

"How about it, Maxie?" he said as he picked up the grey tabby cat and sat him on his lap. "Fancy moving to a little house with a bit of garden?"

Max immediately started purring, as though he was giving his approval.

"Though I don't suppose the memory of how I came to be able to afford a house will go away in a hurry," he added with a sigh. "God, I feel so used, but at the same time I feel... I dunno... empowered. Like, deep down I actually enjoyed it. Does that sound weird, Maxie?"

The cat maintained a dignified silence, and simply purred as his human stroked his head.

"Yeah, of course it does," he sighed. "The question is though, would I do it again?"

His answer actually surprised him.

Yes, despite everything he would do it again - and an opportunity for just such a situation came sooner than he would've thought.

A VIP Assignment

Three months later.

Johnny sat at his new and larger desk with a well-known property search website open on his computer. Now that he was in a position to afford a nicer place he could at last enjoy looking at properties that had hitherto been out of his budget.

"That one looks nice, Johhny," Mrs. Martinsen said over his shoulder, taking him by surprise. "Where is it?"

"Blackheath. Shit! Sorry, Mrs. M... I was just... I'll get on with typing up that report you wanted for the board meeting tomorrow," he stammered in reply, and minimised the browser window. "It's almost finished."

"Hey, don't worry - there's plenty of time for getting that done," Martinsen responded. "Show me this place you found."

Johnny reopened the browser and turned the screen to face his boss.

"It's just a ground floor flat," he informed her as she cast her eyes over the picture of an elegant looking bay window fronted Victorian townhouse and briefly scanned the property description. "But it's twice the size of my current place. Plus, it has a conservatory, a garden, and it's only a stone's throw from the nearest train station."

"Sounds ideal," Martinsen beamed. "You thinking of putting in an offer?"

"Well, after I've taken a look around it, of course," he responded. "But if the pictures are anything to go by, it looks absolutely ideal."

"Well, whenever you want to go and look at it, just let me know. I can give you a couple of hours off if you want to arrange a viewing," Martinsen smiled.

"Thanks, I'd appreciate that," Johnny replied. "How's your own house hunting going? That place out in Chigwell still in the running?"

"Well, it's certainly nicely situated," Martinsen mused aloud. "And it means I wouldn't have to fight my way through central London every day to get here. But, well, I've never really been a fan of that part of Essex, so I've decided to look elsewhere."

"Oh yeah? Anywhere in particular?" Johnny asked her.

"I was thinking maybe Maidenhead would be nice," the newly appointed board member replied. "There are some lovely new houses there right on the riverside, and they even have their own private moorings if I ever fancy investing in a boat for an afternoon chug along the Thames. And they're not too far from the station - ten minutes on foot, maximum."

"Out in Berkshire, huh?" Johnny responded with mild surprise. "I thought you said you didn't want to have to fight your way through central London every day?"

Their banter was suddenly curtailed however when Johnny's phone rang, and a familiar name popped up in the corner of his computer monitor.

"I'd better get this," Johnny said as he reached for the handset. "Good morning, Dame McAllan, how can I help you this morning?"

"I'll leave you to it," Martinsen said discretely, and headed back into her office.

"Could you come up to my office please, Johnny - I have a corporate entertainment assignment for you. How busy are you at the moment?" the soon to be retiring company chairwoman asked him.

"Well, I was just typing up a report for Mrs. Martinsen for tomorrow's board meeting, but I've almost finished it," Johnny responded. "I can spare a few minutes and come up now, if you like."

"Excellent, please do - I'll see you in a minute or two," McAllan answered.

"I'm on my way," Johnny replied, and after hanging up stepped into Martinsen's office to inform her he would be away from his desk for a short while.

Though the easiest way to get to the company chairwoman's large office suite located three floors above was via the bank of lifts located in the core of the fifty storey building, Johnny habitually opted to take the stairs instead. Not only were they closer to where his desk was located, they also represented a chance for a little extra exercise. Being stuck at his desk for most of the day, Johnny never turned down the chance to burn a few calories.

He dashed up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and in only a few moments he was up on the thirty-fifth floor where McAllan's office was located. He spent a moment to catch his breath, adjusted the waistcoat and tie he was wearing, and then as confidently as he could he stepped out onto the floor and across to the chairwoman's suite. He nodded a brief greeting at McAllan's PA, a young but faultlessly competent woman named Cassie who was at that moment on the phone, and knocked on Dame McAllan's door.

"Come in," came the chairwoman's voice from the other side.

Johnny entered, and came to stand before her desk. The chairwoman's office suite was huge, taking up a quarter of the thirty-fifth floor. It was the only permanently occupied office on that level of the building, with the rest of it being taken up by the company boardroom and two newly finished "hot suites" for visiting executives from Wharfside Productions new parent company, the Verbier Media Corporation. The newly taken over company was in the process of being rebranded as Wharfside Verbier Media, or WV Media for short. The rebranding exercise was to be Dame McAllan's final act as chairwoman before retiring.

"Ah, Johnny, thanks for coming up so quickly," McAllan said as she closed her laptop.

"No problem, Dame McAllan," Johnny answered, as ever showing an appropriate level of respect for the chairwoman. "You mentioned something about an assignment."

"Yes, we're going to be hosting a very important visitor to formally sign off the takeover and to attend the launch of our new corporate identity," McAllan informed him levelly. "None other than Sophia Verbier herself shall be gracing us with her presence."

Sophia Verbier was the global president of the Verbier Media Corporation, and granddaughter of its founder, Greta Verbier, who emigrated to the United States from a small village in the Alps in the early 1900's. She founded the Verbier Pictures movie studio, which was responsible for some of the most well-loved comedies of the silent era, and went on to produce many movies throughout the twentieth century to become one of the so-called "Big Four" studios.

In 1962, when the company passed into the hands of her daughter Marcella Verbier, it went on to become one of the biggest media corporations in America, branching out into television and music publishing, with its subsidiary, Verbier Records, eventually becoming one of the world's biggest record labels.

Now in the twenty-first century, control had passed to Sophia, and in addition to all its other media subsidiaries, VMC had branched out into online music and video streaming services. As a result, Sophia Verbier was the world's tenth richest woman, and regularly voted as one of the most influential women of her generation. And now she was planning to visit her media empire's latest acquisition.

"As you can imagine, Johnny, keeping her entertained during her visit will be of considerable importance," Dame McAllan went on.

"Yes, Dame McAllan, of course," Johnny concurred. "I shall endeavour to do my very best - I give you my word on that."

"Good, I'm putting a lot of trust in you with this responsibility, do not let me down," the chairwoman went on gravely.

"When does she arrive?" Johnny asked, aiming to look keen to get down to business and proving himself as corporate entertainments manager.

"Tuesday," McAllan replied. "So you won't have long to prepare, I'm afraid. However, I can at least issue you with a very simple brief."

Dame McAllan leaned forward and rested her elbows on the desk, and fixed Johnny with a glare.

"Just give her whatever she wants," the chairwoman continued. "Take her wherever she wants to go, do whatever she wants to do, drink wherever she wants to drink, eat wherever she wants to eat, spare no expenses whatsoever. In short, you are to be at her disposal throughout her visit, from the moment her plane lands to the moment it takes off again."

"Sure, I think I can manage that," Johnny answered.

"Get yourself a couple of new outfits too," McAllan added. "Take yourself down to Savile Row and get yourself a smart suit, and a formal evening suit as well. Don't worry about the cost, just keep all the receipts and you can claim it all back on expenses. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with what you're wearing now, but a woman like Sophia Verbier will expect you to look your absolute best if she is to be seen in public with you - there's bound to be plenty of paparazzi out there, so look as smart and as handsome as possible, okay?"

"Um, okay, I'll do my very best," Johnny responded. "Anything else I ought to bear in mind?"

"She'll be flying in by private jet to Biggin Hill - you are to meet her there and take her to her hotel," McAllan went on. "She's booked into the presidential suite at Gorringes in Mayfair -- your first task is to make sure she gets there in one piece."

"I will," Johnny assured the chairwoman.

"Good. Now, finish up Louise's report and then you may take the afternoon off to go and get yourself kitted out, and then report back to me in the morning with everything you've chosen," Dame McAllan said as she got to her feet in order to bring the briefing to a close. "I'm sure you have good taste, Johnny, but I shall just like to make sure for myself that you don't choose anything too gaudy."

"I won't, I can assure you," Johnny answered her as he too got to his feet. "I shall make myself the very epitome of discrete style."

"Good," McAllan smiled. "Oh, one last thing before you go - Sophia Verbier, like myself, is a big supporter of championing the cause for men in the workplace, and with so much press attention I want you to make sure you fly the flag - not just for WV Media, but for your fellow men too."

"I shall do my best, Dame McAllan," Johnny smiled politely in return.

"Good boy, I know we can count on you, Johnny," the chairwoman beamed.

* * * * * *

Johnny had never been to Savile Row before. For over a hundred years the thoroughfare had been home to the most exclusive tailors and menswear designers in London, and even though the population of adult men, and therefore its clientele, had dwindled to less than a fifth of what it had been before the onset of the Anderson-Swift's virus, it remained the go-to destination for London's most discerning male fashionistas.

As his taxi pulled up outside the premises of Graves & Haskins, one of the most well-known tailors that even had the distinction of possessing a royal warrant, he felt glad to be away from its driver. She'd been flirting with him the whole time, from the moment he hailed the cab outside the office building at Canary Wharf, all the way through Limehouse, Whitechapel, The City and into the West End. Whilst Janet at the coffee shop's flirting was largely jovial, this particular cabbie's flirting had been much more lurid, almost to the point of being obscene.

"Eight pounds fifty, darlin'," she said as she checked her meter.

Johnny declined to respond, and simply opened the payment app on his phone and tapped its NFC chip against the reader. As soon as the reader's four green lights had illuminated, and the phone had briefly buzzed in his hand to signal that the transaction was complete, he got out of the vehicle as quickly as he could.

"Ta, luv," the cab driver said as he stepped out. "Y'know, if you'd have let me take a peep at what's inside yer pants instead of being such a clit-tease I'd have charged you half the fare!"

Given the gravelly sound of her voice and the yellow nicotine stains on her fingers, it was evident that she was a heavy smoker.

"In your dreams, bitch," he muttered, and breathed a sigh of relief as the cab pulled away.

The premises of the exclusive tailor's was the very epitome of discrete class and style, with a simple frontage behind smart black cast iron railings. Only the gold lettering in a smart serif font above the shopfront and a couple of mannequins, one in a smart black evening suit and the other in a Tweed sporting jacket and dark brown trousers that complimented it perfectly, gave away its identity as the premises of Graves & Haskins. He ascended the four steps that led up to the door, proudly displaying its royal warrant and the words "Suppliers of formal clothing to HRH the Prince of Wales" and as confidently as he could, he entered the tailor's shop.

The next hour or so was, in contrast to the cab ride, one of the most enjoyable couple of hours he'd ever spent in the West End. He was served by a pleasant young woman who made him feel as though he was someone very important, instead of just a personal assistant to a senior media company executive. She talked him through the best styles and waited patiently as he tried on numerous shirts, jackets, waistcoats and trousers, until he eventually settled on two complete outfits. One was a full three-piece suit in a smart navy blue, with a matching waistcoat that had a pink satin back-piece to add some colour to the ensemble, and a smart white shirt and a pink silk tie that matched the reverse of the waistcoat. The other outfit was a formal dinner suit for the evening function after the press launch of the newly formed WV Media, and though the latter outfit was fairly uniform, he was surprised at the level of detail that went into it. Whilst for women the focus of formal evening wear was on style and elegance, for men it was all about discrete formality, attention to detail and getting the accessories just right. The right bow tie, the correct white shirt with the correct number of black buttons, even the correct way for the handkerchief to poke out of the breast pocket.

When she eventually rang up his purchases, along with several accessories such as pocket squares, gold plated tie clip, braces and cuff links, he almost fainted when he saw the total. It was certainly the first time he'd ever blown over a thousand pounds in one go before, but at least he'd been assured by Dame McAllan that he would be fully reimbursed.